Submission for Round Seven of the Quidditch League
Seeker for the Chudley Cannons
Prompt: Write about a magical invention that doesn't work as expected
Word Count: 1380
On the second floor of a little home in Godric's Hollow, behind closed curtains and a locked door, working by the light of a single lamp, a young man sat. He carefully, and with utmost attention, weaved his wand in an intricate pattern over a small device that lay on the table before him, muttering an incantation rapidly under his breath.
He had been going at it for a while, and right at the half hour mark, he cut off with a gasp, freezing in place as the runes and markings lit up and glowed a soft white. After a few moments, they faded, and he relaxed.
"It's done," he said in disbelief, his wand still held loosely in his hand as if preparing to cast another spell. "It's really done," he repeated in a whisper of disbelief.
He could hardly believe it — hours and hours of labor at last had come to fruition. Now, before him on the table, lay the means to discovering what he and his lover had been searching for.
He laid his wand down on the table slowly, as if moving quickly would disturb all the work he had done, and with cautious reverence, he picked up his invention and turned it in his hands. It was a silver, cylindrical tube that easily fit in one hand, and the top somewhat resembled the devices that Muggles used to light their cigars. It was a fitting similarity, he mused, stroking the length of the device, because it was meant to light their way. The Luminator, he called it.
His thumb hovered over the tab at the top, eager and yet nervous to put it to the test. He knew it would work — he'd spent countless hours researching spells and charms and magical interactions, and he did not discredit his own abilities — but he could not help having a moment of doubt.
Before the moment had passed, however, footsteps sounded on the stairs to his room, and a voice called out: "Albus!"
The door burst open to reveal a blond, handsome young man, eyes shining with anticipation. "Have you finished, Albus?"
"Gellert," Albus said, in an attempt to sound authoritative, "what have I said about barging in here when I might be casting powerful spells?"
"I knew you were finished." Gellert smiled flippantly. "Come on, then. Let me try it!"
Albus bit his tongue on the protest that he should try it first because it was his invention, but looking at the unabashed excitement on Gellert's face, how could he say no? With a sigh, he handed the Luminator over.
Gellert held it gingerly, as if it were a baby. "What do I do?"
"See the silver tab, there at the top? Press until it clicks, and think of what you want to find."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
Gellert nodded, perhaps more to himself than to Albus, and placed his thumb on the silver tab. The young men locked gazes, neither daring to breathe. Gellert pressed down.
The tab clicked, and then to Albus' surprise, the light from the lamp on his desk coalesced into a small orb and darted into the Luminator as if it had been Summoned.
There was a moment of silence as they both waited for something else to happen.
"Was it supposed to do that?"
"Not exactly," Albus frowned, "but I suppose maybe it needed to get some light from somewhere. Click it again for me?"
Gellert did so, and the little orb of light zipped out and went back into the lamp. Albus waited desperately for it to do something, anything else.
"It doesn't work," Gellert said flatly, sneering at it. "What a waste of time."
Albus wished he could say otherwise, but he knew Gellert was right. The Luminator would not be guiding them to the locations of the Deathly Hallows.
"What did you call this thing — the Luminator?" Gellert scoffed. "More like de-Luminator, I'd say. Still, you ought to patent it. Raise some money for the Greater Good. I'm sure there are some out there with magic too weak to turn off their own lights who'll buy it up."
His speech finished, Gellert tossed the Luminator back at Albus without looking, and Albus had to lean forward quickly to prevent it smashing apart on the floor. Gellert left the room, dissatisfaction evident on his face and in his posture, and Albus knew he'd be out for a while, practicing spell work to take his mind off the disappointment.
He waited until he heard the back door slam shut behind Gellert as he left the house, and then he turned the Luminator over in his hands. Albus knew he'd made it properly, so why hadn't it worked for Gellert? Perhaps…
"I want to find the Deathly Hallows," he whispered, and clicked the silver tab. The lamp light was sucked into the Luminator, just as before.
"I need to find the Deathly Hallows," Albus tried again. Click. The light went back to the lamp.
He sighed, head dropping down in disappointment. He didn't understand where he'd gone wrong. He'd chosen his spells meticulously, practiced casting them over and over, handcrafted his invention with only the best materials, and apparently it was all for naught. All he'd wanted was to help Gellert achieve the Greater Good — and it was always Gellert who had the ideas, the raw, intoxicating enthusiasm, the passion — and Albus never felt like he quite measured up next to him.
He'd just wanted to make at least one useful contribution, and now, well…
Albus looked down at his invention in resignation. "Deluminator it is, then."
Ninety-eight years later...
"To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive." Albus spoke slowly and calmly to the Dicta-Quill as it made precise motions across the parchment on the desk in front of him.
"To Harry James Potter," he continued, "I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill, and the sword of Godric Gryffindor, in the hopes that he will always remember to ask for help."
He paused momentarily, eyes falling to the blackened appendage that prevented him from writing himself. "To Ronald Bilius Weasley…"
He sighed and glanced around his office. What else could he leave them? If his plans did not go awry, he would die later this very day, and now Albus was realizing how selfish he had been. There were things he should have done differently, things that Harry should have been told that Albus had avoided to spare himself the pain of thinking of it.
Harry would feel left in the dark about many things, Albus thought, as his eyes fell on an old familiar device on his desk.
He picked up the Deluminator with a sad, reminiscent smile. Perhaps it had never worked in the way he'd intended, but he had found it useful for some things over the years, hadn't he? His mind drifting back to the problem of what to leave the young Mr. Weasley, Albus absently clicked the silver tab on the Deluminator.
None of his lights went out.
Instead, a bluish orb emerged from his invention, and he watched curiously as it slowly drifted towards his chest, and then gently sank inside him. A comforting warmth spread throughout his body, and he looked at the Deluminator in awe.
It had worked, at last. He was suddenly filled with a knowledge that had not possessed him before — that giving this to Ronald Weasley would benefit the young man in some way.
He stared down at it. What had he done differently, after all these years? Tears gathered in his eyes as Albus realized that he might never know what had done the trick. It had lain abandoned on his desk for years — since that night he'd used it to extinguish the lights in Privet Drive, almost unthought of until now.
He smiled.
"To Ronald Bilius Weasley," he finally said, voice raspy, and the Dicta-Quill perked to attention, "I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it."