Chapter 21: Caleb Fairhart
Albus spent the next few days in a dream-like state, sometimes unable to fully understand how or why he was in the situation that he was in. What had been the primordial event that had led him to where he was now? A little more than a week ago he'd been exchanging Christmas presents with Mirra. Now he was adjusting to the living requirements of Sancticus Fairhart, all the while being prepared to infiltrate what was possibly the most feared and dangerous location in the world.
Though, as he quickly realized, he would not have had it any other way. Fairhart was certainly not unfair in their negotiations, as made evident by his constant questions as to whether or not Albus was sure that he wanted to go through with their plan, but Albus was always adamantly against this.
"I'm not backing out" he said through gritted teeth one day. "If I didn't think that I was up for this, I wouldn't have agreed in the first place."
"Then stop complaining about the antiseptic" Fairhart said dryly, lightly pointing toward the bar of soap in Albus' hand.
Albus narrowed his eyes, but said nothing as he slouched himself up near the fireplace, then proceeded to wash his arms manually with a rag, water, and the soap.
The first two days in Fairhart's care had been primarily about exploring his surroundings and learning about just how they were going to survive while he was here. As he found out on the very first day, Fairhart's cabin was in a relatively secluded area, with trees encircling all but a small dirt road-covered in snow by the season-that led back to a small wizarding town, of which Fairhart frequently visited for things like food and cleaning supplies.
"And why can't I just clean myself with magic again?" Albus asked the Renegade, who was staring out of a window idly.
"The Trace that the United Ministry has may be nothing more than a replica, but I made it capable enough to detect some things. I can use magic around you without anything registering, but it will be a stronger indication of your whereabouts if you are using magic directly. And besides, even if you could use magic, I wouldn't recommend it. Your wand can clean things on the surface, but there are chemicals and bacteria that you can't possibly eradicate. You still bathe when you're at home, don't you?"
Albus didn't answer this last part of the question, but as he tossed his shirt back over his head, he did have a few of his own now.
"So if I can't do magic on my own, how are you supposed to train me?"
"Eventually, we will simply have to progress through it. It is possible to weaken the Trace on an underage wizard, but I don't feel especially comfortable performing magic on you now, not until I'm positive that I can use it around you without setting anything off. If the United Ministry doesn't show up in the next few days or so, then we'll begin actual magic."
"And if they do show up?" Albus asked.
Fairhart turned. "Then you're free to use magic. You'd might as well. Or, of course, you could always simply choose to go with them. The offer still stands-"
"I'm staying" Albus said darkly, somewhat annoyed at his constant insistence of this now. If Fairhart was so comfortable with doing everything alone, then why had he practically preached to him for help? "But aren't you worried I'd tell people where you are, if I did go back?" he added.
Fairhart gave a light smile, the result being, as usual, twisted skin on half of his face. "You wouldn't be giving up much, there is more than one place I can stay, Albus. This one is just my favorite. And besides that, I'm not worried. I trust you. Your feelings may be ambiguous at best about me, and I cannot blame you there, but something tells me you're not very fond of the United Ministry either. You'd have no reason to side with them here."
Albus said nothing.
Albus spent his nights on the same couch that he'd first woken up on, having no idea where it was that Fairhart had chosen to sleep. Having anticipated nightmares that involved a vicious double of himself attacking him, he was surprised to find that his nights were plagued more by the typical terrors of the night, the same ones, in fact, that bothered him throughout the day.
"Is something troubling you, Albus?" Fairhart asked him as they sat across one another by the fire. "You haven't touched your loaf of bread..."
Albus held the crusty loaf up, frowning. "You get your food from a town right? Not far from here?"
Fairhart nodded, then took a bite from his own piece of bread. "Yes, but I'm afraid that they don't have much better than this. You will see the town soon. I plan on having us stop by for a brief, but necessary visit before our planned departure for Azkaban."
"And people just...ignore you there?" Albus asked casually.
"My name does not resonate with others as much as it would your crowd. Only a few people know that I was supposed to be dead anyway. Apart from my face, there is nothing of interest about me when I enter public places. Only under Waddlesworth's new regime must I be more vigilant, but we are on the outskirts of civilization here."
Now it was Albus' turn to nod. He ripped his own chunk of dry bread with his teeth, chewing it fiercely and painfully.
"But that can't be all that was on your mind" Fairhart said, and Albus swallowed, then nodded.
"I've just been thinking about my family. And my friends. What they're thinking right now."
"It is not too late to-"
"Shut it" Albus said, the warning in his voice matching the expression on his face.
Fairhart scowled, making one of the ugly bumps on his face protrude even further than usual, before speaking.
"Well Albus, the best way to think about it is that your family is only worrying about you, not grieving for you. They are confused, of course...but they also have hope to cling to. I don't know whether or not the United Ministry has informed them that you were last seen being taken away by someone who they consider to be the enemy, but as neither us have been seen since, they at least figure that you're alive."
Albus said nothing, realizing that the situation that he'd presented his loved ones now was uncannily similar to one that they'd been dealing with for so long now anyway. Albus' own father was out of contact, with no guarantee that he'd ever be seen again. He had clung to hope that he would be reunited with his father one day soon. How terrible it must be for his mother, now having yet another reunion to hope for...
"We start your training tomorrow" Fairhart said, and Albus returned his attention to him.
"I can finally start learning some powerful magic?" he asked hopefully.
"Not quite" Fairhart told him. "There is more to being a capable wizard than merely memorizing powerful spells. You need to learn technique, and skill. You will see tomorrow. For now, I recommend that you get some sleep."
He extinguished the fire with a wave of his wand, leaving Albus alone in the darkness. Feeling his way around to crawl onto the uncomfortable couch, he tucked himself under the loose blanket, somewhat excited for whatever this training could be. It was strange, really, that he should be excited for something that pertained to the outlandish task that he'd set for himself. Especially since the possible outcomes of this task mostly fell in between disappointment and untimely death. But there was something about knowing that he was doing something-anything, really-other than waiting around for information, that made it very hard for him to wander off. Not that he'd need to, of course, as non-magical training could hardly be difficult...
As he found out only five or six hours later, however, at the crack of dawn, his most recent night of sleep should have been coveted rather than dismissed.
"You want me to climb that?" Albus asked, pointing upwards at a massive tree that was coated in wet and sloppy snow.
"Yes" Fairhart said.
Albus stared at him. "You want me to climb this giant tree? May I ask why?"
"We are going to an island, Albus. There will be an abundance of trees there, and though it is unlikely that any of them will have snow coating them, this is an excellent opportunity to learn the essentials."
"Yeah, but why-"
"Having a considerable height advantage can result in both aerial attacks, as well as an extremely useful vantage point. In the former, you can expect to use such an attack when taking one or more opponents by surprise, which can quickly turn the tide of the confrontation in your favor. In the latter, you will be able to scour an environment safely. Likewise, it is an excellent way to hide yourself, even from location spells like Homenum Revealo, which will be able to discern that there is a human present, but can still not possibly indicate that the said individual is above someone."
Albus gawked at him, then shook his head, agitated. "And how many times have you used a tree to attack people, huh?" he asked sarcastically.
"Nine" Fairhart said automatically, and Albus groaned. "Now get climbing."
Albus begrudgingly hooked his hand around the icy branch nearest the base of the tree, heaving himself upwards as he did so. The cold snow froze his hand and made it difficult to grasp at other parts of the tree, but it was not until he was more than half way to the top that things became truly ominous. Placing his foot down firmly on a branch, he heard a quick, loud snap that told him that any more pressure would result in a very unfortunate accident.
"Some of these branches are pretty brittle!" Albus called down the tree.
"Yup" Fairhart responded.
"So do I keep climbing?" Albus hollered, annoyed.
"No point now, as soon as you made that noise you died; gave up your location. So come on down and then try again. Quietly this time."
It took three more tries for Albus to be able to climb down the tree as stealthily as Fairhart required, nearly injuring himself in all attempts but the last. As he climbed his way down the bottommost branches, relieved, he felt his pants snag themselves on a claw-like protrusion from the withered tree. As he went to pull himself away, he felt a tiny bump in his pocket that made him go still.
He still had not returned Fairhart's ring to him. Perhaps it was because there was no right time for it, or because, like with James, he didn't want to retell the convoluted tale of how it had come into his possession, especially the part about having once offered it to Blackwood. But then there was a small part of him-a part that he tried very hard to ignore, but simply couldn't-that told him that Fairhart didn't deserve it. He had had the ring on him back in that destroyed muggle house on 2791 Woodlard Way, after all, and had been given the opportunity to hand the ring over then, but had decided not to. He'd been too repulsed by Fairhart's actions.
Fairhart was different now, on the surface at least. Albus had not noticed any powerful aggression, nor had he seen any of the violent tendencies that he definitely would have associated with the Fairhart that he'd seen months ago. But he also reasoned that this was because nothing had set his former professor off. It had been Blackwood's death that had resulted in the monster that he'd witnessed, and there was no telling whether or not that part of Fairhart was close to coming out again...
"Something on your mind?"
Albus shook his head. "Leg just got caught-"
He pried himself free and dropped down at Fairhart's side, shivering somewhat from the snow that had accumulated on his clothes.
"What next?" he said.
"I thought we'd do a little tracking experiment" Fairhart told him plainly. "Close your eyes now."
"Oh come on..."
He did as he was told however, and after waiting a full minute for a response that didn't come, he opened them to find a trail of footprints left behind in the snow.
"Really?" he asked himself out loud, and he slowly began following the trail of footprints, which had twisted and turned all throughout the wooded area it seemed.
After about two minutes of this, he came to a stop. The footprints had led him into a relatively large clearing, but had then disappeared. He looked around the clearing, scouring for more of them-
Something fell on top of him, making his face fall flat into the snow. He groaned as he hoisted himself up, the heavy object now standing next to him.
"Why didn't you check up in the tree?" Fairhart said condescendingly, pointing vertically toward a tree that had snowflakes falling due to his leap.
"Following footprints?" Albus asked, rubbing his back and ignoring Fairhart's question. "A bit elementary-"
"You'd be astonished at how many wizards and witches leave behind footprints, when unaware that they are being tracked. Following these small clues can again lead to a surprise attack. At the same time though, if a trail suddenly ends with no immediate explanation, it does you well do duck or dodge. You've probably fallen for a trap."
"Well I'll remember that the next time I'm following someone around in the snow" Albus said coldly.
"Snow is not the only thing on this planet that creates tracks when walked through. You'll find that things like mud and dirt can be equally effective. But beyond this, try and obtain some symbolism from this idea. When trying to locate someone, you must follow them every step of the way. In the case of doing it so physically, you are looking for visual cues. If you're trying to find someone Apparating around the world, however, you'll need to treat each area as its own footprint."
"What do you mean?" Albus asked.
"Well, if you are tracking someone around different areas, then obviously, you need a bit of information about them. Where are they likely to be going? Deductive reasoning will handle the first part for you. Once you've found out where they'd been once, you must simply follow the trail by examining each place they go next. If you were tracking me for instance, you would come to this cabin. You would see my many books about powerful Necromancy objects like the Dragonfang Wand, and from there, right away, know that I am attempting to do something with it. Assuming that you already know that Darvy has it...you could also assume that I planned on going to Azkaban, where sure enough, I hope to be somewhat soon."
"Why are you telling me this?" Albus asked. "I don't plan on scouring the world for someone-"
"Maybe not, but I'm telling you how to do more than track here; I'm telling you how a tracker thinks. Everything that you do is a footprint Albus. And so, you must exercise extreme caution when moving. Always wipe your footprints, whether they be in the snow or in the entirety of your actions. To demonstrate, I plan on hiding those books and other valuable, but telling information that I've accumulated in a few weeks, once we are ready to leave for Az-"
"Wait what?" Albus asked, caught off guard. "Few weeks? What are you- we can't wait a few weeks to go to Azkaban!"
Fairhart frowned at him, but Albus was too angry to acknowledge this displeasure. For Fairhart, waiting around did little, as the chances were that the objects that he wanted to destroy weren't going anywhere. But there was a powerful timetable that Albus needed to work with now, if he wanted to save his father. Darvy could kill him at any minute...or Waddlesworth could attack the prison. It was one thing to count on the postponement of one of these things, but to bank on both?
"I know what you are thinking, Albus-"
"Then you know why we can't spend weeks preparing!" Albus shot out. "I get that you want me to be able to watch your back, I want to be able to do that too, but my dad-"
"We will have time to train-"
"You don't know that!" Albus yelled; this is it, this was why he wasn't going to give him his precious ring back. He was too selfish. "You don't know that, you don't know when Darvy will be done with my dad, you don't know when Waddlesworth-"
"Educated guessing is the root of this plan" Fairhart cut him off sternly. "And it is again being used here. Darvy executing your father and Warren attacking the prison are not two entirely unrelated things, Albus; one is all but dependent on the other. Darvy needs people like your father alive to extract information about the Ministry. He will need to keep this up at least until Warren attacks the island of Azkaban. Confident in his army though he might be, Darvy is not going to give Warren the chance to outsmart him. And likewise, though he may be belligerent due to the unforeseen attack on the Hogwarts Express, Warren will not allow this to outweigh his propensity for meticulous planning. He is still new to the Ministry. He will wait until he knows Azkaban inside out before doing anything, and will make sure that he is more than prepared to launch a full blown assault against the Dark Alliance. All things considered, I'd say that we have about a month before anything actually happens."
Albus stood there in the snow, fuming. Whatever his explanations, it was all still-as Fairhart had even admitted-guesswork. Before he could say anything, however, Fairhart had added to it all.
"I understand your hurry Albus, but to be fair, this all depends more on you than me. The quicker you show yourself to be someone capable of helping me infiltrate Azkaban, the sooner we can actually make our attempt."
Albus scoffed, knowing full well that Fairhart was only trying to motivate him; to put the onus of the timetable on himself, as a means of improving work ethic. Fairhart's next words, however, had a hint of sympathy in them.
"Perhaps we can start a bit earlier than previously anticipated," he said. "Tomorrow...tomorrow we can start learning some magic."
Albus perked his ears up a bit. "What kind of magic?" he asked, distracted. He was thinking of the spells that he'd seen Fairhart perform as the Silver Wizard; the complex shields and rapid stunners that had all followed their targets-
But something far more interesting had been suggested.
"I was thinking that we'd get a bit started on Legilimancy."
It took nearly twenty minutes of standing still before Albus was ready to use magic the next day. Intent on making sure that his wandwork would not be detected, Fairhart had ordered him not to move a muscle as he swiped his wand back and forth in front of his motionless body, muttering under his breath and leaving Albus to see for himself just how effective his new mentor of sorts was being. Only when Fairhart gave him the say-so did he permit himself to scratch a terrible itch on the back of the neck.
"So I can use magic now?" Albus asked, moving away a bit from the fireplace; they would be having this particular lesson indoors.
"I would think so" Fairhart said, scratching at his chin. "A normal Trace probably wouldn't be fooled, but seeing as how I wasn't exactly expertise with the substitute that I made, we should be okay. Now, back up a bit."
Albus did as he was told, removing his wand from his pocket as he did so. He glanced around the room anxiously, realizing that the only two real pieces of furniture in it; the couch that he slept on and the table next to it, had been pushed aside to the edge of the room.
"Why do we have such a large space?" Albus asked.
"We are practicing magic" Fairhart responded simply. "And though this particular branch of magic does not usually have any physical aspects to it, there is always the slight chance that something will go awry; having a reasonable space to perform magic is a basic and important rule when learning something."
Albus nodded, but before he could do anything else, Fairhart had already asked him an unusual question.
"You are sixteen, correct?"
"Yes" Albus replied.
"Have you already been instructed-if only marginally-in the usage of nonverbal spells?"
"Yes" Albus answered again. "We actually started a bit in my fifth year, and now in my sixth-"
"Good" Fairhart said approvingly. "Good...what about Apparition?"
Albus tensed up a bit, suddenly uncomfortable. "We're learning it" he said blandly. "But I'm not particularly- erm- "
"You don't need to be skilled" Fairhart said quickly. "So long as you understand. The reason I ask is because Legilimancy is largely a nonverbal magical art. Yes, there is an incantation, but like with all spells, this incantation is simply a mnemonic device used to help someone who is not yet familiar enough, or struggles with, the actual methodology behind a spell. With Legilimancy-and other magical arts that pertain almost solely to the mind-you'll find that the method is far more imperative to success than any associated wandwork. Much like with Apparition, where you must focus and perform mental tasks, rather than memorizing a particular wand movement or reciting a certain incantation.
"We will, of course, be starting with the incantation, which I will tell you in a moment. A skilled Legilimens, and one who is learned, will typically not need the magical advantage of a wand or words to utilize it; thus making Legilimancy that much more effective, as it can catch someone quite off guard. The best Legilimens will even sometimes be able to simply use the skill without thinking; a skilled practitioner may, for instance, be able to tell when someone is lying to them without even needing to do anything. Unless of course that person is skilled in Occlumency, but that's an entirely different discussion."
"Can you do Occlumency?" Albus asked. "I actually think I may have asked you before-"
"I am capable, but not as accomplished. Occlumency is, at least as far as I am concerned, much more difficult than its companion art. That being said, I don't think that I will need to teach you Occlumency anyway. It is highly unlikely that you will need to defend your mind against anyone who we encounter, as I'm not entirely sure how many people in Darvy's group could perform the feat. Legilimency, however, is an excellent magical tool to possess, hence why I think some tutelage here would not go amiss."
Albus nodded again, feeling himself grow a bit restless as he did so. He'd never really put much thought into Legilimancy, but now that he was on the verge of learning it, he couldn't help but feel privileged; it was supposed to be a rare skill after all. But then another, terrible thought struck him. What if he was terrible at it, like he was with Apparition, and basically everything else?
"The mindset of someone using Legilimency is what is most important" Fairhart said, and Albus saw that he was pacing slightly now, almost revolving on the spot fifteen feet or so away from him. "As human beings, we naturally want to pry. We thirst for information, even if that information is deliberately kept secret, and Legilimency helps us accomplish this task. We also, however, normally do very little to obtain such sought-after information. We consider it as over-stepping our boundaries. As being morally wrong. As being sinister.
"This cannot be the case if you want to use Legilimancy. You must show blatant disregard for the wishes of others, and the secrets that they want to keep. Much like how an Unforgivable Curse requires someone to truly desire the intended effect, you will find that a Legilimens who does not wish to penetrate the mind of another will find that they are unable to. And thus I must ask Albus, that if you have any reservations of delving into my mind, you make them clear to me here, so that I may explain something before it is seen."
Albus felt sweat roll down his cheek. There were a lot of things that he didn't really want to know or see, Fairhart's entire time with WAR, actually, but as there wasn't anything in particular, he shook his head.
"I'm ready" he said.
Fairhart nodded. "When I count to three, I want you to point your wand at me and utter the incantation, Legilimens. Remember the thought process necessary. You must want to invade my mind, to peruse my thoughts and memories. Make sure that my struggle is but an obstacle that you must overcome, and nothing more. Understand?"
Albus nodded, raising his wand in preparation, his heart beating a bit quicker than he'd thought that it would.
"Do not be deterred if you are not immediately successful" Fairhart warned him. "It takes great skill and practice. On three now...one...two...three!"
"Legilimens!" Albus bellowed, stabbing his wand forward into the air.
The effect was instantaneous. A scene of sorts-an image of colors and sounds-began to connect inside of his head, but what was most peculiar was that he was still very aware of what he was doing. With his physical eyes he could see his outstretched wand, and could see Fairhart standing still, his eyes closed as he cringed. But in the back of his head he was viewing-no, experiencing-things that were part of his own experiences.
He was crawling on his knees through splintered wood and other forms of wreckage. It was dark out, but he could still see his shaking, childish hands as he clawed through metal and wood, the green light of a giant skull in the sky hanging over his head, serving to illuminate the search for his parents-
The scene had switched as quickly as it'd arrived. Now he was sitting across from a beautiful woman. Her usually sharp and cold features were oddly relaxed, her long, golden hair curling her shoulders as she flashed him a warm smile. A youthful Ida Blackwood was leaning in to kiss him, but he was pushing her away gently, not because he didn't find her attractive, not even because he didn't love her, but because it just felt wrong-
The scene stopped, and Albus, feeling quite drained, felt himself buckle, his palms meeting the dusty floor.
"Are you okay?" Fairhart asked him.
Albus' response had nothing to do with Fairhart's question.
"I just- did I- did I just do it?"
He looked up and saw that Fairhart was nodding.
Albus felt his stomach turn hollow for a moment. "Did you- did you see what I saw?"
"No" answered Fairhart. "More accurately, what I was seeing was what you saw. Though only nanoseconds were the difference, I registered a thought first, and you invaded it."
"But I was you" Albus said hurriedly, getting to his feet.
"You saw things through my eyes. Flashes of memory. You were able to perceive them as me because we briefly shared an emotional link. Quite fascinating, actually. Anatomically speaking, the amygdala-"
"I did it" Albus said under his breath, surprised. "You said that- said that- that it would be really difficult-"
"It usually is" Fairhart said. "But our own predisposition does account for quite a bit in terms of magical talent. Perhaps it is simply beginner's luck, but maybe your constant desire to snoop through the business of others is actually manifesting itself positively here."
Albus saw him give a weak smile, which he did not return.
"I apologize; I am understating my awe here. What you just did is actually very impressive, Albus. Far beyond N.E.W.T standard, I am sure. Take pride in it. And now, let's try again..."
"Again?" Albus said, feeling himself shake a bit. Whatever he'd told himself before, he did not like being in Fairhart's head. "I- I kind of saw-"
"I should have been more select in what I was letting you view" Fairhart admitted, and then he muttered something else under his breath that Albus didn't quite catch. "In fact," he started, louder, "let us halt our lesson for a moment."
Albus watched as he strode over to the corner of the room, where the dusty bookshelf was. On top of the shelf was the archaic Pensieve that Albus had used before, the last time, in fact, occurring a few months ago when he'd viewed memories in Fairhart's old home. Fairhart must have later returned to the scene and retrieved it...
Albus watched as Fairhart silently placed his wand to his forehead, extracting strings of translucent material and siphoning them into the bowl. For half of a minute Albus watched as Fairhart did this, until finally, they'd returned to facing each other from a few feet away.
"What was that all about?" Albus asked.
"Though memories can never truly be removed, placing the records of them away somewhere will minimize the chances of them cropping up during Legilimancy. Normally I'd use glass vials, but they can stay in the Pensieve for now."
"What- what don't you want me to see?" Albus asked, a little perturbed.
Fairhart's face darkened. "There is nothing that I don't want you to see, Albus. Now, let's get ready again..."
Albus nodded, unsure of what to make of Fairhart's cryptic answer. Still, he raised his wand once more, but this time only did so half-heartedly. Whatever he may have said before, the thought of being inside of Fairhart's mind unnerved him now, and he was not looking forward to seeing such private things. He could only secretly hope that Fairhart had removed such sensitive memories.
"On three" Fairhart said briskly. "One...two...three!"
"Legilimens!" Albus cried, and he braced himself-
For nothing. Nothing happened, no momentary visions, no struggle from Fairhart, nothing. Albus stood frozen on the spot, his arm extended, until after a moment, Fairhart addressed him.
"Quite alright" he said. "Let's give it another go. It is only natural that it be a bit sporadic at first. You can do it though, as we just learned, remember that. Now, one...two...three!"
"Legilimens!"
Again, nothing happened. Albus repeated this three more times before Fairhart finally approached him, clapping his hands on his shoulders in a fatherly manner as he did so.
"I think that's enough for today" he said.
"I can do it!" Albus said at once. "I can-"
"I know you can" Fairhart told him. "But you don't have to do it again right now. Despite only one successful attempt, you are still miles ahead of where I would have hoped to be after a first lesson. Legilimency is an uncomfortable skill to wield; there is nothing wrong with taking some time to adjust to it."
Albus frowned, but knew that there was no point in arguing. Though Fairhart wasn't going to directly say it, it was painfully obvious to both of them the reason why Albus' later attempts had proven fruitless. Actually doing the deed had reduced his will to do it once more.
"It's getting late" Fairhart said placidly. "Get some sleep. We have a lot to do in the morning; I want to tackle confrontational spells as well."
Albus nodded, sitting down on the dirty couch loosely. Fairhart almost made to say something to him, but then seemed to change his mind.
"Just extinguish the fire when you're ready to sleep" he said, waving his hand toward the fireplace. And without another word, he exited the room, probably not to return until the next morning.
Albus didn't even bother laying down however; he was filled with too much adrenaline. The thoughts of his worried family were still creeping up in the back of his head, but for all of the uneasiness that these images brought him, he felt himself grow more determined in what he was doing. Training alongside Fairhart was mentally taxing, yes, but it was the only thing that he could consider worth doing at this point. If it got him a step closer to freeing his father from Azkaban, then it had to be the right thing to do...
But then again, of course, there was the more simple alternative. He could still perhaps find a way to contact WAR. Assuming that Waddlesworth was still willing to exchange favors, this idea was much safer for himself, and almost certainly had a greater chance of success when it came to freeing his father. It would completely eradicate Fairhart's plans to deal a blow to Darvy, of course, but what were the odds of that happening anyway, really? Fairhart himself was uncertain, hence why he'd even asked for help...
His indecisiveness oozing through his thoughts once more, he waved his wand without thinking, and the fireplace went dark at once. Albus was momentarily impressed with his own magic-he hadn't even said an incantation in his head, after all-but he was distracted by something else. Despite the absence of fire in the room, there was still a faint glow providing light; a silvery glow that seemed to bounce off of the ceiling more than any other place in the room. He felt his heart miss a beat as he realized that it was Fairhart's Pensieve, still containing the memories that he'd selectively removed.
Why had he left it in the room? Had he forgotten that the records of his memories were out in the open? Or had he been unwilling to return them to his immediate thoughts? Whatever memories they were, they could not be anything good. Albus felt himself rise from the couch with curiosity, but he sat himself back down at once, shaking his head. Tomorrow was more training, and it would probably be more eventful and tiring. He needed to get some sleep.
But there was no way that he'd be able to sleep now, not with his interest piqued...
Slowly, he rose from his seat and tip-toed his way over to the bookshelf, his head just barely on level with the nearly flat bowl of memories. He felt a twinge of both guilt and worry as he peered into it. In all of the times that he'd used Fairhart's Pensieve, he'd never done it when the Renegade was nearby; the closest having been in his third year, but even then, it had been his father's memories that he was viewing.
He hesitated for a second, making sure that he wanted to do this. Why he was drawn to Fairhart's past he didn't quite know; hadn't he just shown that he was unwilling to learn such mysteries? And yet, his head was exploding with wonder at what he might see...
He glanced both ways secretively, unsure of what the odds were that Fairhart would return. Would he remember that he'd left his memories in the Pensieve? Or, was Albus' other theory correct, and was Fairhart most likely willing to leave them in there for as long as possible?
Slowly, he lifted the full Pensieve from the top of the shelf and placed it down on the dusty floor, sinking to his knees along with it. The silvery glow blinded him slightly as he peered into the device, the physical nature of its contents as much a mystery to him now as it always was. He knew that his impromptu mischief was highly immoral, but he'd deal with those ramifications after he'd learned a bit more about the vagabond who'd riddled his thoughts for the last few years now...
In a single, sharp movement, he lowered his head into the bowl, and at once he found himself swirling around, his knees already in pain from the pressure he was putting on the hard floor, the darkness of the room being replaced by a magnificent light-
When his feet finally hit solid ground, he felt his jaw drop.
He was on a hill top; a luscious green hill top that seemed to tower over the sprawling image of a suburb below it. He could almost feel the delicate breeze graze his cheeks, and could almost smell the captivating scent of the few scattered flowers in the area, which provided further evidence of just how serene the locale was. He spun around in a circle, mesmerized by what it was he was a part of. Down the steep slope from the hill was a suburb, yes, but behind the hill there were fresh, grassy plains that seemed to extend for miles...
The beautiful scene was accompanied by very little human life, only two people, actually. Albus had to do a double-take when he saw the woman sitting on the hill; for a brief, wild moment, he'd thought that it was Mirra.
As he inspected her more closely, however, he realized that the few similarities between this woman and his girlfriend were outweighed heavily by the smaller traits. They both had long black hair that went down passed their shoulders, and they both had pale skin that seemed to gleam in the sunlight, but this woman's features were much more prominent. Her lips were full, her smile perfectly centered. Her eyes were rather big, but this only heightened their appeal, as they were a spectacular shade of green that he couldn't quite label. Her utter beauty seemed to be matched by her attire; she was wearing a long dress with a floral pattern on it, reflecting the scene around her, and she looked extremely comfortable with her sleek legs resting on what looked liked a checkered blanket.
Her partner in the picnic, as Albus could have predicted easily, was Fairhart. But it was not the Fairhart that he knew now, nor was it the Fairhart that he'd known years ago. Just as he'd seen in photographs before, his face was void of any scarring or disturbance, instead fresh and full, his own features prominent, even if they were partially hidden by his own black hair, which hung loosely down over his eyes. He was very handsome, but as in other cases where Albus had seen him youthful, it was his toothy smile that really made him so appealing.
If Albus' deductions were correct (and he was almost positive that they were) this young woman was named Samantha, and she was a muggle. One look at her hands told him that she was not yet quite as close to Fairhart as she was in other pictures, however. There was no ring on her finger, anyway.
Instead they seemed to be merely enjoying the company of one another, a picnic basket in between them, a bottle of what looked like wine only serving to complete the picture ripped right from a storybook. The genuine feeling of elation in the scene was almost more than Albus could handle, but only because he knew that this moment of happiness was not a sign of things to come. Whatever happened to Samantha, he didn't know, but he knew for sure that Fairhart was going to end up living in a cabin with half of a face...
Fairhart spoke up, his tone one of mock sophistication.
"More wine, my love?" he asked, taking her glass with an expression of humor on his face, and Albus was forcibly reminded of Morrison.
"Mmm, very good sir" Samantha replied, her voice airy and equally jocular.
Albus watched as Fairhart poured the bottle of clear liquid into two glasses, both her's and his own. Handing it back to her, he pointed out to the city below them.
"So where do you want to live?" he asked her, his voice returning to normal.
Samantha smiled at him. "Nowhere down there" she said. "I'd rather live privately."
"What, no friends? Or communic-"
"Well of course those things" she answered, taking a sip from her glass. "But I don't like the hustle and bustle down there. I mean, I don't dislike it, but it's not ideal. I want to live somewhere where we can have peace and quiet whenever we want."
"When do you want to go?" Fairhart asked her automatically, but she chortled.
"Not until I'm ready to settle down a bit" she said. "I love teaching, I love the atmosphere here, now. Just not later. You know...when children of my own are in the picture."
Fairhart nodded, his gaze not moving from the buildings and streets below him.
"What are we waiting for?" he asked suddenly, and she turned to him, looking amused.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what is it that we need? Money, or what-"
"I want to have a future, before I start one" she answered him. "You're always in such a hurry, San. There's nothing wrong with moving slowly and enjoying life."
Fairhart said nothing, but Albus noticed that his face suddenly looked a bit anxious. He scratched briefly at his nose, and then, in a swift movement, took her hands in his.
"What are you-" she started, but it was too late; Fairhart had already lowered his head, bringing her fingers to his lips in a sweet kiss.
Samantha rolled her eyes as he lifted his face back up. "You're so lame, San, honest- oh!"
Gazing down at her fingers, she saw that something unusual had happened. Right where his lips had been, there was now a silver ring, fit perfectly around her finger, sparkling pristinely in the sunlight.
"How- how did- how did you-"
"Magic" Fairhart said slowly, her hands still resting over his. She mouthed at him, stunned, but before she could say anything else, he'd already made a powerful implication.
"So?" he asked. "Do you...?"
"Of course!" she said, sounding as the breath had been wiped from her. "Of course I do!" she repeated, and she flung her arms around his neck, their lips meeting-
Albus felt his stomach churn slightly, suddenly feeling as though he was intruding on something very personal. This feeling was only heightened when Fairhart laid her down on the blanket, engrossed in the moment, and Albus was forced to close his eyes before things really got out of hand-
But the scene had already started to vanish. The light had slowly disappeared, replaced instead by complete and total darkness, as the memory shifted. The rest of that particular memory, it seemed, Fairhart had left in his head, and a new scene was swirling now, around Albus' feet. Colors began merging as voices became clear-
He was now standing in a vaguely familiar place, immediately recognizable due to the fact that he was facing a large, ancient looking grandfather clock. He was standing in the sitting room of 2791 Woodlard Way, and based off of the general lack of furniture and half-painted walls, it seemed like it was just days away from becoming a home.
Fairhart was standing next to him, eyeing the clock idly, his face identical to how it had been in the last memory, his attire now consisting of worn jeans and a loose fitting T-shirt.
"What d'you think?" he asked out loud.
"I love it" said a voice from behind him, and both Albus and Fairhart turned slightly, seeing Samantha pace around the almost empty room, a smile on her face. She was walking around in her own plain outfit, her arms crossed over as she examined every nook and cranny of the room.
"Plenty of open space, we can put the couch right there-"
"No, I mean the clock" Fairhart said, pointing at it, and she made a huffing noise.
"It's tacky" she said, approaching him.
"I like it!" Fairhart argued playfully. "It makes the house seem wise" he said, tossing his arm around her. "And it's sturdy; looks like it endures. A symbol of our love" he added cheekily.
"It's tacky" she said at once, and Fairhart laughed. "What do you think, Fango?"
She turned her head as she said it, and Albus did the same, so fast that he nearly toppled over.
A young Fango Wilde was standing in the doorway, looking somehow both relaxed and uptight as he surveyed the scene silently. Unlike Fairhart, whose youth was noticeable, Wilde looked very much like he had the last time that Albus had seen him, only a few years ago. He had among the plainest of faces imaginable, nothing about him standing out at all, except maybe a somewhat flat nose. His dull brown hair was as dull and brown as ever, only in this memory, it had been combed back stupidly, as if he'd tried to look sophisticated for some reason, but had ultimately failed.
"I- I agree with San" Wilde said airily, nodding his head toward him. "It makes the place look more comfortable."
Fairhart made a pumping motion with his fist, as if to declare victory. Sam rolled her eyes however.
"How'd I know you were going to side with him" she said with a slight chortle, but Wilde had missed the joke it seemed, for he was suddenly looking marginally disgruntled...
The scene began fading away again, darkness returning to engulf his surroundings. What happened next was a bit unusual; the darkness stayed, but blurred and garbled sounds were entering his ears, as though several scenes were being merged into one. Albus caught noises of surprise and worry, with the occasional stray phrase like "Ministry of Magic" or "Wizard"...
The noises disappeared, leaving the darkness by itself for a moment. Having apparently cycled through several different memories at once, the next one appeared to be a stand alone, as light emerged from the darkness all around him...
"Take a picture, Fango!" came a girlish voice, and the first thing that Albus saw was Fairhart and Samantha, standing next to each other comfortably and looking elated. They were outside somewhere, possibly just outside of the house, but the importance of the moment was clear. Samantha's belly was larger; she was pregnant.
Albus had seen this image before; he'd seen a dusty old photograph of it years ago, in Fairhart's office, the day when he'd left Hogwarts. He had not known at the time, however, who had been the one to take the picture. He turned and watched as Fango Wilde held up the camera, a flash of light blasting from it at once. Fairhart leaned in to kiss his fiancé, but Wilde was looking, unbeknownst to his two friends, murderous, his lips curled in a twisted, almost salacious way...
The scene began to evaporate once more, and Albus felt his stomach turn. He did not want to view these memories anymore. He wanted to leave, right now, but he'd never figured out how to operate a Pensieve correctly, and besides, a new scene was already forming, a new memory, and this one placed him in one of the strangest settings imaginable.
He was in a white room. The walls were almost entirely blank, but there was a desk that had odd looking devices on it, as well as a few chairs, two of which were occupied. Fairhart was sitting in one of them, looking close to tears, his arms wrapped around Samantha in the chair next to him. Her eyes were leaking obviously, her face resting in her hands as she hunched her body over.
There was a third person in the room as well, and though Albus had only ever really seen pictures of it in his Muggle Studies textbook, he knew from the white lab coat and the pens poking out of the elderly man's front pocket that he was a Muggle doctor. He was holding what looked like a cream colored folder, and his expression was grim...
Albus turned his attention back to the crying woman next to him, who had reclined back further into Fairhart's arms. He gasped at once, his body going cold; she no longer appeared to be carrying a child.
The scene began to disappear, though Albus barely took notice of it. He should have expected what he'd just seen, really. He had found the lopsided crib months ago, and it had looked unused. He'd never heard of Fairhart having any children. But it still shocked him, seeing a distraught Fairhart try and console his fiancé like that, the most stark contrast possible to the memory on the hill top...
He was distracted by more noises. No images appeared, as, once again, there was no single memory to speak of. Instead it was a blur of sounds, only this time the words that he'd heard were shouted; angry yells, and recognizable sobbing. He could hear Fairhart roaring, his voice choking up on his words. He could hear Samantha yelling back, her shrill voice identical in volume and anger. Albus realized that he was literally listening to a relationship die.
The noises stopped, and for a moment, it seemed like there was a memory to be viewed. The world around Albus was completely dark however, or at least, it had seemed so at first. He now saw that he was in the presence of a single instrument of light; a candle, resting atop a small wooden table shrouded in darkness. He could just make out Fairhart standing there, holding up a long piece of parchment and reading it by the candlelight.
Albus could only guess that they were in a study of sorts, but before he could feel his way around for anything else, he heard a door open. Fango Wilde appeared from almost nowhere, the sound of a door closing accompanying his presence.
"San?" he asked, sounding timid. "San, what are you read-"
Albus watched as Fairhart's fist collided with Wilde's face. He cringed inwardly as the Renegade dropped the piece of parchment onto the table, one hand wrapped around Wilde's collar, the other curled into a fist that was ready to strike him again.
"What are you doing!" Wilde said, his nose bleeding badly and looking swollen already. "Let- let go of me-"
"What did you tell her!" Fairhart bellowed into his face, his nostrils flaring. He seemed to have Wilde pinned up against some sort of invisible wall.
"I- I don't- what are you-"
"She left!" Fairhart barked menacingly. "Where did she go! And why! What did you tell her!"
"I didn't tell her anything!" Wilde pleaded.
"LIAR!" Fairhart screamed, and Wilde reached his hand into his pocket-
Fairhart was quicker. With the hand not pinning Wilde he drew his own wand, striking it through the air mightily. Albus heard a powerful bang, and the next thing that he knew Wilde had slid downwards in a daze of sorts, looking as though he was staring at millions of twinkling stars.
"It says it right here" Fairhart practically whispered, and he snatched the piece of parchment up without even looking at the table. " 'Having spoken to Fango I've come to realize'" he quoted. "What does that mean! What did you say to her!"
Wilde still seemed to be recovering. His normally plain and bored face looked filled with worry, the only thing noteworthy about it apart from the dark red blood leaking down over his lips. It couldn't have been more different from Fairhart's, whose handsome face had twisted itself into the epitome of ferocity.
"I didn't tell her anything-" Wilde started.
"Liar!" Fairhart said again, sounding close to tears now. "You knew what she thought of magic! You knew she was afraid of it, didn't understand it! Did you tell her it was my fault!" he growled, his lips quivering. "Did you- did you tell her it was because of me-"
"I am sorry about what happened to your son, Sancticus" Wilde cut him off. "But I told her noth-"
"Stop lying!" Fairhart shouted. "You're not sorry! You think I'm a fool? You think I didn't see the way you looked at her-the way-the way you-"
He couldn't even seem to finish his sentence. Wilde was staring back up at him blankly, denying nothing this time, but not confirming anything either.
Fairhart aimed his wand at Wilde's neck, his arm steady.
"You going to kill me?" Wilde choked out, a note of disbelief in his voice. "Are you going to kill me, San?"
Fairhart stared down at him with hatred. After a moment, however, he lowered his wand.
"You're not worth it" he said menacingly. "You're not worth anything" he added, the abhorrence in his voice very clear. "I know it, and she knew it too."
He went to stow his wand away as though the confrontation was over, but Albus saw the look on Wilde's face and knew otherwise. This last insult had riled him up from his stupor, and in a single moment he'd whipped his wand upward, just as Fairhart was putting his away-
Albus screamed out a warning, despite knowing full well that Fairhart couldn't see or hear him. He watched everything happen next as though it were in slow motion. Wilde had given a roar of rage, and a flash of light had burst from his wand just as the tip of it had made contact with Fairhart's cheek. The powerful curse seemed to explode onto the left side of Fairhart's face, and he fell to the ground at once, clutching at it, hollering in agony and writhing on the floor-
Fango stood up, his face still leaking blood. He took one look at the twisted image of his former friend on the ground, and then, his expression blank, he made a run for it-
Albus felt someone clasp him around the shoulder tightly, and the next thing that he knew, he was spinning upwards, the scene going dark for one last time-
He removed his face from the Pensieve gasping for air, as though he'd been unable to breathe the entire time. Turning quickly, the first thing that he saw in the light from the Pensieve was the present-day Fairhart's face.
"I- I-"
He couldn't quite figure out what to say, but he was taken aback by the look that Fairhart was wearing. He did not seem angry, or even upset. He instead looked calm; almost stoic.
Without saying a word, his former professor lifted up the Pensieve from the floor and walked it over to the shelf, where he returned it to its rightful place. This darkened the room a bit, as the only source of light was elevated once more, but Fairhart quickly flicked his wand through the air, and the fireplace began glowing at once.
"I-I'm sorry" Albus stammered out, pushing himself back up against the dusty couch, his knees up to his chin. "I was just- I-"
"I understand" Farhart said slowly. "It was foolish of me to leave the Pensieve out like that. No matter, however; I don't mind that you used it."
Albus tensed up a bit before speaking.
"You- you don't? Then why bother removing the memories when we were practicing Legil-"
"Because I didn't want to see them, Albus" Fairhart said, and, surprisingly, he proceeded to sit down on the couch, just a few feet away from him.
Albus said nothing, instead lowering his head solemnly. After an extremely uncomfortable moment, he decided to ask about what he'd seen. He started simple, with things that he already knew.
"That woman" he said. "Samantha" he added stupidly. "She...she was a muggle right?"
Fairhart nodded slowly. "A schoolteacher, actually" he said. "She taught science classes" he added with a shadow of a nostalgic smile.
"And she didn't know anything about- about you? At first?"
"That is correct" Fairhart answered him. "I did not tell her until after I'd already proposed marriage."
"How did- how did that go?" Albus asked foolishly, more than anything to have an excuse to not bring up Fairhart's child.
"Not as good or as bad as one could expect" Fairhart told him mysteriously, without even looking at him. The firelight crackled as he began to go into detail. "She was a muggle, Albus, and like all muggles, she naturally feared what she could not explain."
"She was afraid of you?" Albus asked, surprised.
"No, not of me" Fairhart said, shaking his head. "But of our world. Of the idea behind us. To her, the thought of a secret government regulating the breeding of species like dragons was as terrifying as it was fascinating. The thought that with a wave of a wand, a person could kill you, or take control of you, did little to help her sleep at night. She was afraid Albus, not of wizards and witches, or any particular individual, but of the Wizarding World as a whole. The world that she could not be a part of, but that she would always have a part in.
"It is not an uncommon fear for muggles whose children are born with wizarding abilities, or others who marry into wizarding families. She actually handled it remarkably well, all things considered. Don't forget that it was an extremely difficult time for wizardkind, back then. I could not lie to her and tell her that the Wizarding World was a safe, wonderful place. The times greatly influenced her thoughts on the matter."
"But you guys- you stayed together" Albus said lamely.
"Of course" Fairhart replied easily. "We were in love."
This sentence made Albus cringe slightly, and in order to avoid any more elaboration on that particular part, he instead asked something else that was nagging his mind.
"You and Fango Wilde were friends" he said. "And she was friends with him too."
"I told you that before" Fairhart said, nodding. "Don't you remember?"
"I do" Albus replied at once. "I just didn't realize it was- it was so long ago."
"I met Fango Wilde shortly after the death of my parents. He too had a family ravaged by the war against Voldemort. He never knew his mother, but his father and sister were killed when he was very young. He barely managed to escape himself. For those of us young wizards who had no families to speak of, when we found one another, near inseperable bonds were created almost on principle alone."
"I had no idea" Albus said truthfully. "You guys have known each other so long..."
There was another silence following this, one in which he did his best to avoid Fairhart's eyes. The Renegade seemed to be lost in his own world however; he was staring absently into the fire, a vacant expression on his disfigured face, which Albus knew was the product of one of Fairhart's oldest friends...
"I'm so sorry" Albus said darkly. "About- about your- your son."
Another brief silence. And then-
"Thank you" came a reply that sounded slightly watery.
"What- what happened?" Albus asked, feeling as though he was treading on dangerous waters. But he had to know. He'd learned so much already, and there was no point in saving the rest of it for a later day.
"Complications during pregnancy" Fairhart said, turning to him, and a few tears had quietly leaked their way down the normal side of his face. "Not terribly infrequent, actually. Sometimes it just...happens."
He buried his face in his hands, and Albus, not knowing what to do, could only sit back and watch, transfixed and helpless, the magnitude of the moment weighing in his head. How long had it been since Fairhart had discussed this with someone? Or had he never even done so?
"And what happened to her?" Albus asked, feeling teary himself. "I didn't- I don't-"
"Losing a child, Albus," Fairhart started, picking his head up, "is the most powerful feeling of grief that I believe conceivable. It changes lives so suddenly, and with so little effort. Conversations thinned. Laughter ceased. At night we slept back to back, our bodies not touching, unable to face one another, personally invested in our own depression..."
"And then-"
"-she left" Fairhart whispered.
"But why?" Albus asked, angry. For some reason- and he knew it was wrong of him to be so judgmental-he didn't like this woman Samantha all that much. "Why would she leave?"
"She hated me" Fairhart said with a tremor in his voice, his eyes closing slowly as he spoke. " There was so much resentment. We never even bothered to attempt a marriage; such a joyous occassion would have been marred drastically. I still remember the date that we had set for the wedding. It was the fourth of May" he added reminiscently.
"But why! Why would she blame you-"
But Albus stopped right there. Because he knew that he was missing something, and he knew that in the back of his head, he'd found it. The missing piece, hidden in the last memory that he'd seen.
"Wilde" he muttered.
"In our stretch of sadness and distance, Fango proved to be excellent at consoling her. It is a most curious thing, the trust that he managed to obtain from her. I would sometimes try and hide the nature of magic from her; try and hide things that I thought would frighten her. But Fango was always quick to capitalize on this; he had no problem informing her of what it was our kind could do. She found him very trustworthy, and you can rest assured that this would play a factor into her leaving."
"What did Wilde tell her?" Albus asked, his entire body numb.
"I don't know" Fairhart said. "Perhaps he told her that I was responsible for what happened to our son-"
"But how could she believe that!" Albus argued. "Wizards and muggles have children all the time, there's half-bloods-"
"You must find a way to see things from her perspective, Albus. She did not understand, and was partially afraid, of magic. She was not going to ask me how often muggles bred with magical individuals. It would have been quite easy for Fango to tell her that it was me being a wizard that was responsible. Or maybe not even; I sometimes wonder if maybe he went a different route. Perhaps he told her that I, with my abilities, could have saved the baby."
"Could you have?" Albus asked, and he regretted his question at once.
Fairhart turned to him, the tears on his face no longer falling, but still glistening in the light of the fire.
"I don't know" he said mildly, sounding close to crying once more.
"He was in love with her" Albus said at once. "Wilde. That's why, right? Why he would do-"
"Whether Fango Wilde was in love with her, I do not know" Fairhart said, his voice returning to normal. "But he was certainly infatuated, and for more than just her looks or personality. For many wizards and witches at the time, the life of a muggle was preferable. Muggle-born wizards and witches were a frequent target of the Death Eaters, but muggles themselves were only really in danger if it was by happenstance. For someone like Fango-and someone like me as well-that nearly safe, almost sheltered life had a powerful allure to it. Fango wanted more than to be with my fiancé; he wanted my life as a whole. The death of my unborn son was, to him I believe, rather fortuitous. It ultimately helped him to sever a cord that was already close to failing. Indeed, sometimes I even wonder if..."
He trailed off here, looking uneasy; it was as though he couldn't even bring himself to utter just what it was he frequently wondered. Albus said nothing, instead staring into the fire, just as Fairhart had. Something else was nagging him...
"After- after what happened between you and Wilde," he said shakily, "did you ever manage to find her? Sam?"
"I didn't look" Fairhart said with a sigh.
"Why not?" Albus asked, astonished.
"I didn't want her to see me" he said darkly, and Albus' jaw dropped.
"What, because of your face? Couldn't you heal it? Do you really think-"
"Not just my face, Albus, my entire identity" Fairhart said, his tone almost acidic. "And incidentally, cursed wounds are very hard to heal if not treated immediately, which I didn't even bother with...but in terms of what I really didn't want her to see, it was my disposition. I was filled with anger, with confusion, even with guilt. I hated who I was after she left. I had went from having everything to having nothing. A son. A lover. A friend. I propelled myself downwards...
"You joined WAR" Albus said, understanding the chronology of events at once, and shaking his head sadly.
"Yes" Fairhart said. "I had so much aggression...so much rage. I needed to channel it. I wanted to hurt others. I became a terrible, terrible person, immersed in my own self-loathing. WAR wasn't about redemption for me, that was just my excuse. The fact was, I had no purpose. But I wanted to fight, to fuel my life. And the only way to justify these actions was by performing them against people as bad as me. And besides, there was some personal satisfaction to it. Every time I killed a Death Eater, there was a chance I was avenging my parents, after all..."
"You should have went after her" Albus said. "Instead of joining WAR. You should- wait!"
He picked himself up and sat down on the couch, something oddly close to excitement flooding through him.
"You still can!" he continued immaturely, and Fairhart turned to him, looking amused. "You can still find her, no one's better at finding people than you-"
"I eventually did try" Fairhart told him, and Albus' smile sunk at once. "About four years ago."
"Four years..."
"Over time, I began reverting back into my old life" Fairhart said. "The pain of losing my son, and my life, faded. Not the wound," he added, and Albus knew that he wasn't speaking about the scar covering half of his face, "never the wound. But the pain. I left WAR. Eventually joined the Ministry. Prepared to get my life back on track.
"I tried finding her, and came very close actually, but it was ultimately unsuccessful. For about a month in the summer I searched, but it was to no avail."
Albus wracked his brain, something about this sounding vaguely familiar. Four years ago, during the summer...that would have been the summer before his second year. And that, he realized, was actually the first time that he'd ever met Fairhart. And Wilde! Only Fairhart had been missing from the Ministry for a while, according to his father...
And where have you been these many weeks? The office was getting boring without you.
And what had Fairhart replied?
I left the country for a bit. Had some things to find.
Albus felt his heart beat quicken as the memory surged into his head. He remembered thinking, months later, that Fairhart had been very suspicious, as had his absence. He'd thought that perhaps Fairhart was a leak in the Ministry, but the leak had later turned out to be Wilde...
But wait...there was more to it. Albus hadn't just seen Fairhart and Wilde that one day, when he'd went to visit the Ministry with his father. He'd seen the two of them interact quietly in a corner. He'd even thought that maybe they'd been arguing lowly...
"I saw you!" Albus blurted out. "The day you came back from looking for her! You were arguing with Fango Wilde!"
Fairhart nodded, and strangely enough, a slight smile had formed on his face.
"You have a very wandering eye, Albus. Fango and I hadn't spoken in years, not since the memory that you saw, in which he cursed my face. In an attempt to overcome my feelings of distress over my former life, I acted civil around him when I joined the Ministry; he'd already worked there before me, in a different department. That one day-that one argument that you saw-was the first time that I'd spoken to him in several years."
"Why were you arguing with him?" Albus asked. "Because you couldn't find her?"
Fairhart nodded. "I don't know if Fango knew where she was, but I was certain that if he did, he would have done everything in his power to prevent me from finding her. He maintained his innocence, however, outright claiming that he didn't know where she was, and didn't know why I couldn't find her."
"Are you ever going to look again?" Albus asked, his tone hopeful.
Fairhart gave him a weak smile. "Maybe" he said. "But first, I have work to do here, in case you'd forgotten."
Albus felt his skin crawl. He'd almost-somehow-forgotten about their plan to break into Azkaban. But beyond even that, he'd forgotten about the alternate plan that he'd been struggling with; the plan to hand Fairhart over to WAR. In that sequence of events, he'd almost certainly never be able to find Samantha...
"Which brings me to the reason I'm sitting next to you now" Fairhart said, and he actually stood up. "You need your sleep. We have training to do tomorrow-"
"Did he have a name?" Albus asked suddenly, knowing that the discussion would have to soon come to and end, but wanting every last tidbit of it covered.
"I'm sorry?"
"Your- your son" Albus said, standing himself. "Did he have a name yet?"
Fairhart ogled him.
"No" he said, his face impassive. "Not really, anyway. We'd been still deciding when- when..."
"You should name him" Albus said at once. "Just to- just to- I don't know."
He really didn't. He couldn't quite explain why, but hearing about the tragic events of Fairhart's life had made him desperate to want to console him in some way. He wanted to remind Fairhart about the former life, because he much preferred it to the vicious Renegade that he knew...
"Well, we had been considering 'Caleb'"Fairhart said. "She- she had a cousin named Caleb who she seemed to like very much."
"Caleb Fairhart" Albus said, nodding. "That actually has a nice ring to it-"
"Caleb Crowe" Fairhart cut him off sadly. "We weren't married yet-"
"No" Albus said, shaking his head. "His name- it- it should be Caleb Fairhart" he said, and his former professor gave him a warm smile.
And then, something clicked in his head. He could give him another reminder...
"Here" he said, shoving his hand into his pocket and withdrawing the silver ring that he'd possessed for far too long. Fairhart's eyes-even the one half-closed by his mangled face-lit up at the sight of the ring.
"How did-"
"It doesn't matter" Albus said, unwilling to tell him about how Blackwood had tossed it away, and all of the events that had brought it to him from there. "It's just- I know you used to wear that" he told him. "You should wear it again."
Fairhart took the ring from him in a delicate manner. Slowly, he put it on his ring finger, a look of elation transforming his face entirely-
"Thank you" he said, his eyes boring into Albus'. "Really..."
Albus nodded, smiling himself. Fairhart clapped him on the shoulder, eyes still examining the silver ring, and he then turned to leave.
"Get some sleep Albus" he said, and Albus nodded. Fairhart was very close to the doorway out of the room when Albus decided that he had one more thing to ask-'
"Profess- erm- Fair- uh-"
"San" said Fairhart, the smile on his face stretching the skin in a disgusting way that Albus was now accustomed to. "My friends call me 'San'. Or at least they did" he added somewhat sardonically.
Albus tensed up. His friends. Wilde had been his friend...and he'd also betrayed him.
"I just- I just wanted to know. About Fango Wilde. Have you- have you forgiven him?" he asked nervously, unsure as to why this question was so important to him.
Fairhart stood in the doorway, still examining the ring around his finger, which was faintly glowing blue as he was now further away from the light of the fire. After a moment, he finally answered, his voice sour and cold.
"No" he said, and Albus felt his stomach drop. "And you should know, Albus," he continued, "that the last I heard of Fango Wilde, he was a high ranking member of the Dark Alliance. If I see him on the island...I will kill him."
Albus nodded his head, not knowing how to reply. Not that it mattered, though. After this declaration, San had left the room wordlessly.