Chapter Two: Webs
Damn it, Rudy.
Albus let out a frustrated sigh that went unnoticed by his cohort, but fully realized by Minerva who took a cold step away from him. She seemed determined not to make eye contact with him again.
Of all of the ways this day could go!
He was stuck in a tiny, unkempt house with his only friend in the world, the foreigner in charge of the household and his well-missed ex. At least he could make a barrier from all the boxes lining the floor! Walls could be made! Maybe he would just barricade himself into a corner and never come back. That would be perfect, wouldn't it?
What a mess of everything!
Albus's eyes trailed from the mountains of boxes to the corner where long needles were crocheting socks to the table which clearly had become a tanning bed for ageing meat.
The house smelled of rot, smoke and pepper—a wave of sickness struck his stomach, which he swallowed down out of necessity. Nobody could live like this, no human, certainly. He was ill, both emotionally and physically, but had been fine only moments ago. What was this hell of a place?
Tiny daggers of air seemed to make his eyes bleed: his eyes leaked from the smoke and the stress. He reached up with his fingers to touch the liquid. Could blood be clear?
His mind fell into a strange haze, the physical world around him becoming not blurry, not ill-defined but…dreamlike, perhaps. It became fast and slow at the same time. And voices seemed distant or perhaps a whisper.
He let out a breath and was reminded of his vomit reflex.
He swallowed it down again and breathed in deeply through his nose. It occurred to him that what he smelled perhaps was not rot or meat. It was an aromatic. Next to the meat on the table, there were strips of incense burning. It was odious.
The man blinked and whispered to Minerva out of concern for the situation, "Well packages?"
She did look lovely today, even as the water from her hair dripped down onto her worn coat. There was nothing about her at all that seemed uncertain or out of sorts. Her tone, perhaps, felt softer, "I've been corresponding for a week with her."
For a moment, he was lost in the trance-like hum of her voice before remembering what it was that he sought. "What is her name?"
"Araneida," she whispered.
He forgot his fear after a few more moments of breathing. Calm befell him and he no longer felt ill, or any desire for anger. He was at peace for the first time in a very long time; maybe ever.
"Come, come," the matriarch stated, a much kinder air about her now that the door was closed.
There was no reason to fight the situation or his deep and bitter feelings. They would be doing good, wouldn't they? Well packages. It was not tantamount to seeking revenge, but it was a thoughtful gesture. Minerva was always thoughtful.
Minerva.
He missed her terribly.
Albus walked in farther, near the table of low-burning coals and makeshift metal containers. He liked the way that the light danced.
Before his eyes, the table seemed to triple in size and he took a seat. He was in some sort of trance, he thought, but it was somehow not quite a magical sensation. No, it felt like he had been sort of…drugged, maybe. He felt relaxed and alert all at the same time, not like magic would have done. Magic is always certain in its intent.
Minerva took a seat next to Albus, as did Rudy on the other side.
He could not help but smile gently at her out of genuine adoration; a gesture which she did not see for her gaze followed the matriarch.
"Supplies are limited, but there are many in need." Her thick accent seemed less noticeable as she spoke with meaningful intent, Albus thought. She added with a gesture, "In the corner, there are socks. Take a pair of socks, two pieces of dried meat and then write a note, something patriotic or motivational. Box it. And I will send them when the rain lessens. Questions?"
Albus shook his head.
He wondered where in the world this woman hailed. She spoke good English, but her accent was very strange, her voice very deep. Something mystical hung about her, even as she began summoning item by item and placing them in boxes just as the rest of them did. Perhaps she was not completely human. Maybe she had vampire or veela blood in her, or maybe it was something altogether different.
Araneida?
He knew that name.
He watched as his hands seemed to know what to do and summoned item by item, box by box and banished them to the corner.
Albus felt industrious and perplexed and yet nothing at all as the corner filled and the room became empty. Were those his hands? Was this an act of free will anymore or was he in some sort of stupor? Should he be alarmed?
Beside him, Rudy grinned and even hummed to himself as he scribbled "Stay firm" on a piece of parchment. He was strange, Rudy. But at least he had found something to make him laugh. His life at the castle was no better than anyone else's.
On his other side, Minerva looked resigned to maintaining silence and focusing on wrapping the dried meat with care. Albus could not help but compare her soft hands to the leathery meat, noticing what age and heat had done to one while the other treated it as though it were the most precious thing in this world.
The man swallowed, tears tickling the ducts of his eyes.
He thought himself a world apart, glancing at these two people who seemed completely themselves while he waded in ethereal mists.
How long was he there?
It seemed only seconds before the matriarch clapped her hands and nodded in approval. "That is the last of them," she grinned. And with a wave of her wand, the corner cleared: web-like strands leaked down from the roof and gathered the packages, pulling them up to the tall ceiling with them.
Perhaps she carried spider blood in her.
How could that be?
Albus stared at the woman, knowing somewhere deep within himself that he stared at a truly unusual creature.
Araneida. Araneidae. Spiders.
Was she even real? Was the incense tampering with his head?
He felt too clouded to look beyond that simple thought.
"A reading?" she asked.
Reading? There were no books.
With several long blinks, it became clear to Albus what she meant.
The woman turned around the table and approached the DADA teacher, taking his arm with care. It was odd that the man did not fight this strange woman for he was always aware of danger. Perhaps he, too, was in the stupor that befell Albus and he could not tell.
She held Rudy's hand palm-up and within a moment, thousands of white wispy strands of color climbed to the ceiling, interlocking occasionally. It was a giant, glorious, variant-colored web, imperfect and disorganized as strands clung to every part of the room.
What was this magic?
Time stopped: the fires ceased to crackle and the needles hung mid-crochet. All eyes stared.
What was this galaxy of wispy threads before him? Surely this was fake, a trick, some sort of cheap magic that street merchants peddled.
He had never heard of this before.
She touched Rudy's pinky and all the rest of the giant web seemed to fade except for that one direct strand. The woman looked at it methodically, almost scientifically before speaking to the silent waiting room. "Ambition once drove you. You even married for social gain, but you were oblivious to the free will of your wife. You've lost the bet you made."
Albus blinked.
Rudy did not wear a wedding ring.
Her hand traveled to his next finger, the previous webs fading and new ones began to glow. These threads seemed somehow more perfect and less tangled than before. Again, she stared at the lines before carefully speaking. "You needn't worry about your boy. But you are wise to do so—so few worry for others."
Rudy's head looked over at Albus in disbelief before looking up at first the web and then the matriarch.
The woman's hand traveled over his middle finger to his index. The strands glowed a strange yellow, almost flashing as she surveyed the information. "Your home will be broken and repaired for the better."
"How?" Rudy asked, having gotten past his shock.
"War does much to a home," the woman nodded. "You will fight and return. And nothing will be the same. Damage will run deep."
"What sort of damage?"
The woman ignored his question and took his thumb. This strand, rather than going up, went sideways to the wall. She nodded to herself softly, "Your family will grow large and you will be well tended to in your final years."
Rudy blinked and nodded, but said nothing otherwise.
She let go of his hand and the webs disappeared.
Albus leaned back in his chair in awe. Was this real? Had they somehow stumbled upon a true fortune teller? Surely not. No such magic existed. And yet what he just saw was most compelling, most magical.
"Miss?" the matriarch asked as she looked at the beautiful Minerva.
"I am not interested," she stated simply.
Why did this response surprise him? Was she not curious? Did she not feel intrigued by this woman?
"Because you do not believe?" she asked without accusation.
Fear and uncertainty were in Minerva's eyes. "Because I do not wish to know."
No? Of course she didn't. She believed in goodness and love and self-sacrifice. Why would she wish to be plagued by her future?
The matriarch stared at the girl before giving an approving nod. "Wisely said."
Her gaze shifted to the middle and Albus felt the weight of this woman's heavy stare. Her deep brown eyes bore into him, rendering him helpless as she spoke, "And you, Mr. Dumbledore?"
She knew his name.
He let out his hand without a second thought.
Billions of branches, webs thick, thin, and multi-colored, spread throughout the room. The matriarch looked around in satisfied wonderment, a wide grin on her lips. She knew his name and what she would find. That was the look of true satisfaction.
She took his pinky first: a thick rope of webbing expanded in all directions, the rest of the web fading into the candlelight. She frowned as her eyes scanned the red strand for information that only she could understand.
Many moments passed before she said anything. Her voice was soft, "You have hurt many. And will continue to hurt many with those very traits you once held high. Even now, they die because of you."
He felt his stomach sink and tears fight their way to his eyes. "How can you know that?" he whispered. It was not that he doubted her words or even her knowledge. But was it really fair to blame him? Could she really be saying that without him, there would be no war? Surely this woman could not pin that on him. Only he could blame himself.
She clicked her tongue and stared with harsh certainty, "I know who you are."
Perhaps she did.
Methodically, the woman released his pinky (and all of the webbing associated with it) and took his ring finger. A single, thick strand darted straight to Minerva and then up at the ceiling. The matriarch stared in genuine surprise, her eyes following the strand from one person to the next and then returning to Albus's gaze. Her harsh stare grew soft. "Of course you are worthy," she stated simply.
Albus felt Minerva's gaze on him for the first time since entering the house, but dared not return it. Was he so transparent that she knew the question he unwittingly asked?
He was so sorry and so lonely. All he wanted was forgiveness. And love. He wanted love.
The thick strand disappeared as the woman released his finger.
A new, green, well-spread web flooded the ceiling as she took his index finger. There were many shades of green: bright, light, forest, even almost black. It somehow seemed ominous, these webs. And he knew she was looking to the future, the future that he knew would be messy.
"You will right your wrongs and find the fame you once sought. Happiness will come second to you and first to others."
He swallowed down his fear. "I won't be happy?"
"Often," she said gently as she came to his thumb. (She did not wish to dwell there.) Only some pieces of the previous projection fell to nothing. Half of the web began to glow blue, the rest remaining its variant shades of green.
The matriarch stared, her eyes remaining soft. "Thank you for your sacrifices. The outpouring of love you will receive, it will be well-deserved."
The room fell silent.
A breath that he did not realize he held in freed itself.
The weight on his shoulders rose into the ceiling as she released his hand.
And then another layer of silence fell upon them. Albus blinked. The muggle sirens stopped. True silence surrounded them, even as the fires came back to life and the needles began their work once more.
A wave of uncertainty bolted up the man's back as he realized that Minerva still stared at him. And he felt petrified that she knew, really knew what any of that meant.
"The siren has stopped," Rudy's voice wafted through the air.
Albus licked his chapped lips and nodded, turning his head towards the man; anything to get away from this haunting endeavor. "Time we return to town, don't you think?"
Rudy nodded, "All three of us."
"Do not run too fast," the woman stated. "It will be wet."
The three of them exchanged glances before walking and putting their shoes on silently. The matriarch went directly to the door and opened it for them.
Albus sat in his office, staring into the nothingness of the stone walls.
The students were all back in their dormitories and no one was lost or run away. No success like this happened since school started, nearly. Congratulations.
Absent-mindedly, he took a sip of the scotch concealed in a silver goblet on his desk. He felt the burn of the liquid, but tasted nothing. He could not be sure if that was due to the scotch's quality or his lack of feeling. His senses were not yet themselves, which daunted him.
Was any of that real?
Could he hope to be forgiven and to receive praise? Could he expect to be lonely forever?
It seemed too vague to mean anything at all.
What was he doing? He was an intellectual. Of course it was not real.
"Professor?"
His head turned quickly towards the door out of a panic that he could not have anticipated. Minerva stood there, her wet raincoat draped over her wrists. Worry lived in her eyes.
He stood up, placing both hands on his desk to do so. "Yes? What's happened?"
"I wanted to check on you," she stated simply.
Panic drifted out of him and was replaced with warmth and understanding. She came as a friend. They were friends, weren't they? He had to believe that much.
Albus did not sit.
She could not stay, honest as her concern was. He would say things that he could not deny if she stayed.
"I am in tip top shape," he lied.
Her entire face fell from an already low, concerned point to one of disappointment.
His insides twisted in knots and ate themselves to see that face, that lovely loving face.
He did not like to make her feel sad. She was the only sunshine that he had, if indeed he could ever say he had her.
She intertwined her fingers, unsure of the situation. "The trouble is," she stated gently, "you are not any good at all at hiding your emotions. Or maybe," she shrugged and took a single step to him, "maybe I can just tell."
She also could never be called enigmatic, at least not when it was just the two of them. Her concern was unmistakable and although well-founded, inappropriate. They could not be, even if he wished it. "You don't need to be concerned over me," he nodded. He released her, painful as it was for him. "You're free of me and all that darkness."
Minerva stared at him for several moments before deciding to walk farther in. She placed her coat on top of the chair usually reserved for detention-bound students and stared. Her green eyes narrowed and Albus knew she was angry although she kept her composure.
He stayed silent, his chest crumbling inward with every moment.
"I cannot believe that you fail to understand anything about our relationship. It needed to end? Fine," her lip twitched up in anger, though her voice was kept low. "If that was the moment that it needed to end, fine. But don't act as though you're being noble, don't act as though you're saving me. I will not be on your conscience. You've got enough things to worry about. Things, which, I would like to note, you never told me about, or only told half-truths. Don't deny it." She paused and let it sink in.
Albus said nothing. He would never deny it.
"Go do whatever it is that you need to do!" she hissed loudly over the desk. "If that means fight, then fight. Leave this damn place and to hell with the headmaster."—Albus took note of her full green eyes in all their radiance—"Don't sit here and mope. Don't let the darkness get to you. Do you not see what damage you do to yourself?" she took a step away from the desk, sadness having taken over her eyes.
Albus felt the sting. He knew very well what pain he brought upon himself and he had no intention to stop; not when his night were spent alone and there was nothing to bring his spirits up.
He gave a nod, "I do."
She let out her arms to the side and shook her head, waiting for more in frustrated disappointment.
He swallowed and then added for her sake, "You were good for me in that way. You"—he sighed as he searched for the word—"mitigated my self-loathing."
"Mitigated your self-loathing," she whispered softly to herself and nodded her head as if understanding something for the first time.
Silence.
Her voice came in barely a whisper, "What is there to loath?" she shrugged. "You are kind and intelligent and yes, lost, but we all are. That's no fault of yours. You're only broken if you think you are broken."
"You can't fix me, Minerva" he stated simply.
His heart ached for that lie, a deep throbbing pain that previously was indeed unknown to him.
The girl blinked, the rest of her body frozen as she stared at the man. That hurt her, too.
After one prolonged closing of the eyelids, she let out a breath and brought her hands to her cheeks before letting them fall to the floor in submission. "I thought we could help fix each other. But maybe you are too self-involved to see that."
He felt no anger at all with her accusation, only hatred for himself. "Perhaps I am."
Silence fell on them.
He missed her. Merlin, he missed her. Even in her pain, she was beautiful. Even as she was telling him to leave the school and leave her, she was the dream he wished he had the courage to dream. He could live in those eyes forever and regret nothing. Couldn't he just escape?
Tears filled his eyes.
Here he was, saying all of these things that were not true so that there would be no temptation, only sadness. Was that better?
Her voice came out strained, "You were good for me. And you are worth loving, even if you don't believe it. If you asked me to do anything in the world, I would do it out of love and loyalty."
His lip quivered. He loved her so very much. But there was no changing their path. "I know," he stated simply. "And I would do the same for you and for the same reasons."
He couldn't continue this conversation. He would take it all back, even beg if she kept up with these sentiments. And why? She understood the relationship they had to have. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Albus," she nearly whispered as her eyes began to visibly well, "you need to leave. For you. Now."
She was telling him to leave? Was that to be her great sacrifice?
No.
Maybe it would be his.
He had no reason to stay for a girl that was not his own. He swallowed, finding this moment outrageously sudden and even more difficult. "And if I don't want to?"
"Of course you want to. It's all you talk about."
With that, the girl gave a nod and turned, walking rather quickly out of his office and through the classroom into the corridor.
He stared into the darkness of his classroom from his office and swallowed with difficulty.
If it was all he talked about, it was because he could not find the words to talk about her.
His eyes trailed down in defeat to look at the chair where her coat still rested, dripping onto the wood. She would need that tomorrow.
He took it in his hands and walked through the illusory wall.
Her coat would dry well by the fire.
R&R SVP