December, 2012
He knew he should be wary, but he'd been hunting hallows most of his life. He had the Elder Wand, taken from Gellhert so many years ago. He tried not to think of that. He didn't have the Cloak, exactly, but he knew where it was. James Potter had it, tucked safely away, and Albus knew he could get it whenever he chose. There hadn't been much point, however, until he had the Stone.
The three Hallows. Have them all, and you became Master of Death. The Wand that could not be defeated. The Cloak that hid you from Death itself. The Stone that brought shades from the beyond to your side. Men had died and gone mad and lost themselves trying to find them and he'd had two for years, without side effects of any sort, but had never been able to find the third and now someone had sent him a ring that every test he could run identified as the Resurrection Stone. It glittered at him from where it sat on the table. Black facets caught the light and sent it back and he knew he should be careful but he'd mastered two and the lure of power had him in its grasp and so he slid the ring over the gnarled bones of his finger until it sat, a perverse wedding band, secure and solid and safe.
He had it on for three seconds, maybe four, before the burning began.
He could feel the fire steal over his skin as if he had stepped onto a pyre and he grabbed the ring to pull it off and cast it aside but it wouldn't budge. There was a roaring in his ears and he almost fell as he stumbled from his seat at the desk to his personal potions cabinet. Five spilled, bottles broken and priceless magic left to soak into the carpet before found the one he wanted and pulled the stopper. The liquid slid like ice down his throat and it damped down the fire but the flame wasn't out, merely contained.
Dumbledore took a deep breath and summoned Severus Snape.
Snape took an eternity to arrive. He was there in moments. He took in the spilled potions and the tight face of the man who'd been his patron since he'd been a sullen, impoverished boy good at potions but so terrible with people he couldn't get a job. "What have you done?" he asked.
"I am afraid I have been a foolish old man," Dumbledore said. He held up the hand with the ring on it and offered up a wry smile. "I have been seduced by power."
Snape looked at the dark bit of jewellery and closed his eyes. "Taken in by a curse, more like," he said. "I assume it cannot be removed."
"I have failed to do so," Dumbledore said, "but I am open to your suggestions."
Snape was a not untalented wizard and he turned the full of his faculties onto the ring and achieved exactly what Dumbledore had, meaning nothing at all. The ring simply wouldn't budge.
Dumbledore's smile became more pained as more attempts failed and at last Snape said, "I can control the… side effects… of the curse."
"The pain," Dumbledore said.
Snape nodded. "The Potions you'll need… they are… you can't stop taking them. Do you understand?"
"Or I'll die," Dumbledore said with a hint of his old twinkle but the twinkle faded when Snape shook his head.
"No," he said. "You'll just want to."
. . . . . . . . . .
Tom looked at the tree. He wanted to despise the holidays, but he couldn't when Hermione had found an evergreen that almost filled the main hall of Castle Library and filled the branches with glowing balls of light. Boxes spilled out under the tree and he wanted to laugh when he realized she'd put tiny warding spells keyed to the recipients on each package. The children would have to undo her magic to get their presents.
"Do you think that will slow them down?" he asked her.
She hooked an arm through his and grinned. "If they can't figure out how to undo simple little locking spells, they aren't clever enough to use what we got them."
'Not clever enough' wasn't a description a sensible person would apply to any of the castle crew. Nor was quiet. The door from the outside was pushed open and all the Death Eater families tumbled in, bags with gifts of their own slinging from arms and kisses dropped on cheeks as the adults stepped around the pre-teens to ask how the season had been. Astoria had votes lined up for anything they needed and blackmail threats ready to release. Draco swung Hermione in a circle and asked how her last shopping trip had been. Harry kissed her cheek before extricating Rose from an aggressive indoor potted plum she'd been convinced she could tame since she was a tot. The chaos came in and brought laughter and shoving and drinks were poured and passed around until Belladonna begged to be allowed to open the presents and did her favorite uncle like her hair.
Tom mussed that hair and told her she was a menace but he was immune to her charms so go find her package and stop wasting her time on a man old enough to be her father. Drusilla laughed. "Takes after her mother," she said with pride.
Granted permission, the kids tore into boxes, passing packages to one another as they identified who each spell was keyed to. Rose crowed with delight as she pulled a necklace out of her box and fastened it around her neck and promptly winked out of sight.
"Hermione," Draco said as his near-daughter disappeared. "Are you sure that was a good idea?"
Tom smiled at his follower, his eyes glinting, and asked, "What makes you think it was hers?"
"I'm sorry, my lord," Draco said, taking a step back. "I'm sure she'll be fine." His stumbling attempt to extricate himself from that misstep turned into suppressed laughter as the invisible child dumped a bowl of glitter over the head of her favorite non-parent. Tom stood in a shower of silver and tried to keep his mouth stern as Drusilla smirked and Helios clapped his hands with delight. These children would be the death of them all.
. . . . . . . . . . .
The building where they had decided to meet huddled down against the back of Knockturn Alley. Narrow windows had been covered with soap and the yellow glow of the lamplight oozed out where the white had been scraped away. Greg cast an uneasy glance back over his shoulder, worried they'd been spotted or, far more likely, that some hooligan would take it into his head to rob Luna.
Any clever thief would have steered clear of her. Despite the way she tipped her face up to the sky and tried to catch one of the fat snowflakes that drifted down on her tongue, she radiated that edge of danger they all did. Black corsets and heels that should have slipped on the icy street wrapped themselves around a woman as fey as she'd been at seventeen.
Of course, fairies were notorious in folklore for luring people off cliffs and laughing as they died.
Fey, Greg thought, was exactly the right word.
Fey, dangerous Luna stopped trying to eat snow and opened the door to the squat house. The light briefly stained the cobblestones before she and Greg stepped in and shut the light inside with them.
The older man sitting at the table wasn't as thin he'd been in prison. He'd dressed in fine robes, and a bit of the old sparkle had come back to his eyes. "Madam," he said as he rose to greet her. "I've heard fascinating things about you."
Greg pulled out a chair for her and Luna sat down. Once she had settled herself the old man followed suit while Greg kept standing behind her. "You are older than in your photographs," she said.
"That happens," he said.
"Not to me," she said. She studied him. "Gellert Grindelwald. The Darkest wizard of his time, defeated, imprisoned, aged, freed."
"Luna Lovegood-Goyle," he responded. "Dark water-witch."
"You want to kill Dumbledore," she said. "He's mine."
Gellert tweaked his brows up and the haggard face transformed for a moment back to that of the cocky young man who'd planned to rule everything and had never doubted he had the power and the right. "I think he was mine first," he said. "I think he betrayed me first."
She shrugged and tipped her head to look up at the ceiling. "This place is dirty," she said. "We'll send over someone to help you get rid of those cobwebs."
"Dumbledore - "
"Is mine." Luna had no intention of backing down on that, even if it were possible. "It's already started," she added. He looked curious, or perhaps he was being polite, but she took that as an opportunity to share the details of her plan with the ring, the deceptive stone, the curse. As she described the way it couldn't be removed and how even the best pain medications would only dull the agony of endlessly burning alive, Gellert began to smile. When she told him the ring also wouldn't let him die until she released it, he laughed out loud.
"You," he said, "are a delightful creature."
. . . . . . . . . .
Her steps clicked down the floor of the Ministry, each tap of her heel a tiny reminder of her power. Astoria stopped to lean on the desk of an administrative assistant, compliment her hat, and ask if she'd heard that there was going to be a sale at Madam Malkin's starting on Friday. The young woman beamed at the Minister and admitted she had plans to be there. Older bureaucrats stopped what they were doing to smile at their Minister as she passed. Astoria appeared with rural orphans riding her shoulders at Quidditch games, and was well known for the platter of biscuits that never seemed to run out sitting in the waiting room outside her office. People loved her.
"She's been waiting for twenty minutes," a wizard said, the tone suggesting he thought she might need a warning.
Astoria glanced up, past the folded paper airplane memos soaring hither and yon, to the large clock dominating the open foyer. "Our meeting isn't until nine," she said, dimpling at the older man with his purple velvet hat that spouted a canary from the top point. The canary must have been set on a wire because it bobbed first one way and then the other as the man nodded his head.
"She arrived early," he said.
"Probably trying to avoid getting stuck in her office up at Hogwarts," Astoria said. "I so admire the effort that goes into running that school."
The both glanced over at the morning's Daily Prophet. 'Continental Wizarding Firms Prefer Durmstrang Graduates' read the headline.
"They're a little mired in the past," the wizard said as his canary wobbled.
"Well," Astoria said, "I'm glad they're willing to talk to us about maybe moving forward a little." That was what she said to McGonagall too, when she pushed open the door to her office precisely at nine, having complimented a wizard on his son's three goals at last weekend's youth Quidditch match, stopped to remind an Unspeakable that they'd promised her an update on their research into fire spells, and shared memo writing tips with a very serious young witch who wanted to go into government. Astoria did not permit herself to be rushed merely because other people arrived early.
"I'm so happy you're here," she said at that exact hour of nine. "Thank you for making time to talk with me about Hogwarts."
"You really should be talking to Albus," Minerva McGonagall said. "I am only a teacher. I do not set policy."
"I was hoping for a more informal discussion," Astoria said. "Tea?" She moved to the silver tea set gleaming from one of the many antique tables in her office and poured herself a cup.
Minerva McGonagall said, "That would be lovely, thank you," into the expectant pause, and Astoria poured out a cup for her, inquired about milk and sugar, and handed her former teacher tea exactly the way she liked it before settling down in an armchair covered with pink silk.
She held her saucer with one hand, picked the cup up to take a small sip, and leaned forward. "I'm sure you want to help make Hogwarts great again."
"I wasn't aware it had stopped being great," McGonagall said.
Astoria ignored her. "I am less sure that Albus Dumbledore is concerned with the school. He's always been a man who dedicates his energy to worthwhile projects, of course, but concerns have been rising about the way the school compares to other wizarding schools - not the American schools, of course - but Durmstrang and Beauxbatons."
McGonagall sniffed to express her opinion of American schools. "Albus is a dedicated educator," she said.
"Is he, though?" Astoria asked. McGonagall set her tea cup down with a bit of a thunk on the table at her side, her opinion expressed with that gesture. Astoria didn't allow her own expression to falter. "I don't doubt he's a great wizard, Minerva. I can call you Minerva, can't I? But he doesn't teach, he doesn't guide a House, he doesn't even seem to know the students, if reports can be believed. I know you are still deeply involved in the day to day educational concerns, and I trust you to - "
"You can trust me to tell you Hogwarts is in excellent hands," McGonagall said. "And no, you may not." She stood up and made a show of brushing her hands over her dark green robes as if she might have become dirty during her time in the Minister's office. "Good day, Mrs. Malfoy. I can let myself out."
After she'd gone, Astoria took another sip of her tea and waited. Harry slid out from behind one of the many false panels, helped himself to a biscuit, and said, "Well, you tried."
Astoria laughed. "I did my best to antagonize her. If they actually capitulated and started teaching the Dark Arts before Tom had his chance to destroy Dumbledore in some dramatic and public way, he might be peeved at me."
Harry looked at the biscuit in his hand. "Is this stale?" he asked.
Astoria apologized with the admission it had been one more way she'd wanted to make Minerva feel put out. A quick head out her door and a request to one of the assistants who adored her had a fresh plate of biscuits in her hand and a reminder she was meeting with a Bulgarian official about potions regulations in thirty minutes. Harry declined the offer to spy on that meeting as well, and took off to deliver the results of the McGonagall meeting to Tom.
. . . . . . . . . .
A/N - Thank you to cocoartistwrites, who beta read and brit picked this for me. She is a gift (and has her own, wonderful tomione stories to delight you.)
