Part 16
Albus was not expelled (how could they expel HIM?!?!), however, he was required to take Muggle Studies with a private tutor. His fury was soon replaced by the same anguish that Poppy felt. Nothing could console him. His parents were equally infuriated, for they had adored Poppy with all their hearts. Albus refused to enter into any negotiations of marriage to another woman, and claimed he would remain a bachelor all his life.
"My love for Miss Pomfrey is too strong to every overcome," Albus told his parents, "Such is my love for her that she will never be replaced."
School was ended, Albus graduated, and then went into the work world. He was made independent of his parents, but still lived in their home in London, for that was where his business with the Ministry was. Truthfully, he hoped one day to return to Hogwarts to teach, though not if Professor Green was still there.
Albus also looked through the Daily Prophet every day, and, two weeks after graduation, found an announcement of their engagement. This he put away in his desk, along with the ring with Poppy's lock of hair, for he was determined not to linger on her too much. He received no letters from her, and had no doubt that Professor Green was in some way blocking any letters which she might have sent in secret.
So Albus lived, in all his pain and misery, throwing himself into his work. His parents remained at Drakelane for the summer and fall, so he would not see them until winter. He did not entertain much company, for all knew his anguish and, curious as they were to inquire after it, they were not willing to enter into his home and recieve the cold hospitality with which he regarded everyone. He received many invitations to parties and balls, but feeling as though there was no entertainment in such pursuits, and he would not be happy dancing with anyone but Poppy, he did not attend any of them. From six in the morning until past midnight, he was either at the Ministry working, or scribbling away at his research. Society began to speak of him as their own personal tragedy, though few of them knew all the details, and those who did had enough integrity to not share them.
So time passed. The weather became very hot, and the clothing of the people became lighter, and they sat about with sweat dewing their foreheads, drinking lemonade. Albus did not wish to see the green trees or hear the water in the fountains, and shut out the laughter and the carriages outside his home. He did not want to risk hearing her voice, or a voice that was somewhat like hers, nor to hear the news being passed along the street, for fear it would concern her. He removed his study to the attic, where there were no windows and it was cool and dark and dusty and he could pretend it was winter, as it was in his heart. His blood still ran and his brain still thought, yet he felt as though he were dead, and he had nothing to live for. He became thin and pale, and he knew, deep down that he was hurting only himself, and he also did not care. If Poppy were to burst in the door one day, he would run to her and be happy, but it was not so.
Finally, one fine afternoon nearly a year later, there was a knock at the door of the study, where Albus was buried in his work.
"What?" He said in a highly annoyed voice, turning around.
"A Mr. Flamel to see you, sir."
"What? Mr. Flamel? Where is he?" Albus leapt out of his seat.
"In the drawing room sir," The servant said, looking scared, "Should I request that he come another time?"
"Certainly not!" Albus cried, "I will go attend to him, and you will go down to the cellar, find the finest wine, and then we shall have a bit of a party, if it only has two guests."
"Yes, sir," And the servant withdrew.
Albus flew down the stairs and landed in the drawing room door. Nicholas was looking at the paintings, swinging a cane from one hand.
"Nicholas Flamel!" Albus said, stepping into the room.
Nicholas turned around, and smiled, "Albus Dumbledore."
"How good to see you," Albus shook his hand, "Where have you been?"
"Abroad."
"Abroad! Where to, Nicholas, tell all."
And so they sat for the afternoon talking, much as they did in their school days. Nicholas had been to France, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Austria, and Spain. He told of his exploits in each place, of the people, the food, the music, the art. Everything about a place that was not dear England seemed to catch Nicholas' fancy.
"I sense a change in you, Nicholas," Albus said, "What is it?"
"Simply that I have become more knowledgeable about the outer world, Albus," Nicholas replied, "I know of a world beyond my spellbooks and my research. You should try it, you know. The reports I have heard since I have been in town are that you do not leave your work for a second. I have read some of your essays, and while they are top quality, I do suggest getting out more often."
"Where to?"
"Well, you might try your parents, first off. They have not seen you since graduation. Maybe I am suffering from lack of judgment but they might miss you, you know. You did not even go for Christmas!"
"I do not wish to return to Drakelane at present. And how do you know if they miss me?"
"Well I went to stay with them for a week."
"You did?"
"Well yes. I am quite to them as their own son, you know. They consider me like a brother to you. But it is quite unfair, I am three hundred seventy-three years older than you, and yet you will not receive their hospitality, only take all their money, while I take all their hospitality and receive no money."
"You have your own fortune," Albus rolled his eyes and poured another glass for them.
"Or maybe you could try making some calls to your old school friends. Geoffrey lives barely four streets over and he has heard nothing of you but what is in the news."
"The Daily Prophet, the London Times, both speak so highly of me, yet none of them have
ever met me face to face."
"Because you do not leave the house any more!" Nicholas exclaimed, "You look very pale indeed!"
"Well what would you suggest, Nicholas?" Albus stood and went to the window, staring down at the busy street, "Breakfast parties? Musicals? Strolling in the town square and making conversation with people I hardly know, who inquire after my parents and my business when all they want to know about is my poor broken heart?"
"Well you can not blame them! Even after all these months, your poor broken heart is still
the main subject of conversation."
"Well my poor broken heart is still just as broken," Albus gripped his glass very tightly, and then said, "I have no desire to socialize with such people."
"You can not stay locked up forever!"
"I can."
"Have some sense, man!"
"What would you have me do?"
"Lady Kalmond is having a ball tonight. You are invited, you know," Nicholas showed Albus an invitation addressed to him, "And you should come. Come and drink champagne, dance...You have not danced since last May. It is not healthy for you."
"I have my work," Albus said, stiffly, for the last time he had danced was with Poppy.
"You have your work - You will ALWAYS have your work, Albus!" Nicholas clapped his shoulder, "Come on! You need a day of fun! I daresay you have shut out and ignored any invitation which my subject you to the torture of a good time."
Albus looked at Nicholas from the corner of his eye and said, "All right. I will attend Lady Kalmond's ball."
"Excellent!" Nicholas drowned his glass, "I will pick you up at eight. Now I have business so I must leave you - "
"What business? It is almost time for dinner. Stay and dine with me."
Nicholas turned, and shuffled around a bit, "I...I have pressing business."
"Ah ah ah!" Albus turned on him and looked suspiciously at his friend, "What business?"
"I am dining with Lord Holl, Mrs. Holl, and Miss Holl."
"Miss Perenelle Holl?" Albus exclaimed, "That lovely Slytherin?"
"Yes, she was a Slytherin."
"She graduated three years before us, did she not?"
"Yes."
"Was she not on holiday with you when you...You know," Albus leaned up against the cool pane of the window.
"Yes, she was."
"But there is an attachment?"
"Yes," Nicholas barely uttered the word and turned a very deep shade of pink, "Now, excuse me, dear friend. I will see you at eight."
The ball was, Albus could not deny, a great deal of fun. He was doted upon by everyone, and danced with many pretty girls, and made many new acquaintances. He was not, however, entirely distracted by the demands of his heart. Every head of dark curls, every wide smile, every pale face, everything that reminded him of Poppy caught his eye, yet it was never her. He spent much of his time craning over heads to see if it was, but it was always some other girl, sometimes an acquaintance of his, sometimes not. If it was not, he would quickly away, for he did not want to talk to anyone who reminded him of her.
Eventually, Albus managed to slip away, towards one in the morning. He wandered down a deserted hallway, gazing at paintings, then out the door to the back lawn. Lady Kalmond's estate was a bit outside of town, so she had lawns, though not very large. There was a rather large pond, or a rather small lake, either one. Albus stood looking at it, and slowly, the voices and the music and the laughter in the house behind him seemed to die away...And he remembered....
// Albus stood at the lake, gazing at the motionless black water. It was late, and he was not supposed to be out of his dormitory, yet he really did not care. Slowly, he reached inside his pocket, and, feeling the small, cold circle of metal, pulled it out and held it upon his palm. It shone brightly in the moonlight, a silver band, with a single, tiny, square-cut aquamarine gemstone on it.
The sight of it caused a breakdown. His emotions overwhelmed him and, for once, he did not feel so superior. For once, his arrogance was not there. He was not so much more brilliant than everyone else, if he too could be felled by love. He, an eighteen-year-old boy, had made a stone that could make him endlessly rich, and he had the power to live forever. Yet what was all that worth, if he could not have her? She was his immortality, and he would have none of it, if he could not have her with him for the rest of eternity. What was the point of living until the end of time, if so far back he would only remember the love had once had, and then lost to a man driven only by jealousy? All of his months, all the weeks, the days, down to the seconds in which he could see the fire, the consistency, the unbreakable love in her gray eyes...All of the time he had loved her...To come down to this...
Albus held the ring between his thumb and his index finger, moving it back and forth, watching it in the light. It dropped back into his palm, and he closed his fingers around it, taking a deep breath, as if to draw energy from it. Then, with a mighty swing of his powerful arm, he cast it into the depths of the lake...He saw the faintest of glimmers, heard the tiniest of splashes...And then silence. Silence all around him except for the unending tearing of his own heart. //
"Albus!"
Albus jumped and turned around. Nicholas was there, holding a glass of champagne.
"What?"
"You have been standing out here for near an hour. I think we had better go home."
"Right," Albus nodded slowly.
"Come on, take this," Nicholas handed him the glass as they walked through the house, "It will make you feel much better."
"I really do not wish to get drunk, Nicholas," Albus took the glass anyways.
"You already are quite drunk, Albus," Nicholas laughed.
"Do you remember what happened the last time you got drunk?" Albus asked as they walked out the front door, "You took the Draught of Living Death."
"Yes, but I am not that drunk, and neither are you, so drink it."
The carriage door was opened for them and they stepped inside, where it was quite dark. Albus was just pulling open the curtain, but Nicholas reached over and stopped his hand.
"I do not like the curtains to be open late at night," He said, "Sometimes...Well, it is just not safe."
Albus looked suspiciously at Nicholas, but nodded, and put the glass to his lips. He tipped it back and drank it all down. Before he could wipe his lips or set the glass down, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed onto the seat, unconscious.
"Driver!" Nicholas called, checking Albus' pulse and then arranging his limbs on the seat, "Diagon Alley please!"
Albus was not expelled (how could they expel HIM?!?!), however, he was required to take Muggle Studies with a private tutor. His fury was soon replaced by the same anguish that Poppy felt. Nothing could console him. His parents were equally infuriated, for they had adored Poppy with all their hearts. Albus refused to enter into any negotiations of marriage to another woman, and claimed he would remain a bachelor all his life.
"My love for Miss Pomfrey is too strong to every overcome," Albus told his parents, "Such is my love for her that she will never be replaced."
School was ended, Albus graduated, and then went into the work world. He was made independent of his parents, but still lived in their home in London, for that was where his business with the Ministry was. Truthfully, he hoped one day to return to Hogwarts to teach, though not if Professor Green was still there.
Albus also looked through the Daily Prophet every day, and, two weeks after graduation, found an announcement of their engagement. This he put away in his desk, along with the ring with Poppy's lock of hair, for he was determined not to linger on her too much. He received no letters from her, and had no doubt that Professor Green was in some way blocking any letters which she might have sent in secret.
So Albus lived, in all his pain and misery, throwing himself into his work. His parents remained at Drakelane for the summer and fall, so he would not see them until winter. He did not entertain much company, for all knew his anguish and, curious as they were to inquire after it, they were not willing to enter into his home and recieve the cold hospitality with which he regarded everyone. He received many invitations to parties and balls, but feeling as though there was no entertainment in such pursuits, and he would not be happy dancing with anyone but Poppy, he did not attend any of them. From six in the morning until past midnight, he was either at the Ministry working, or scribbling away at his research. Society began to speak of him as their own personal tragedy, though few of them knew all the details, and those who did had enough integrity to not share them.
So time passed. The weather became very hot, and the clothing of the people became lighter, and they sat about with sweat dewing their foreheads, drinking lemonade. Albus did not wish to see the green trees or hear the water in the fountains, and shut out the laughter and the carriages outside his home. He did not want to risk hearing her voice, or a voice that was somewhat like hers, nor to hear the news being passed along the street, for fear it would concern her. He removed his study to the attic, where there were no windows and it was cool and dark and dusty and he could pretend it was winter, as it was in his heart. His blood still ran and his brain still thought, yet he felt as though he were dead, and he had nothing to live for. He became thin and pale, and he knew, deep down that he was hurting only himself, and he also did not care. If Poppy were to burst in the door one day, he would run to her and be happy, but it was not so.
Finally, one fine afternoon nearly a year later, there was a knock at the door of the study, where Albus was buried in his work.
"What?" He said in a highly annoyed voice, turning around.
"A Mr. Flamel to see you, sir."
"What? Mr. Flamel? Where is he?" Albus leapt out of his seat.
"In the drawing room sir," The servant said, looking scared, "Should I request that he come another time?"
"Certainly not!" Albus cried, "I will go attend to him, and you will go down to the cellar, find the finest wine, and then we shall have a bit of a party, if it only has two guests."
"Yes, sir," And the servant withdrew.
Albus flew down the stairs and landed in the drawing room door. Nicholas was looking at the paintings, swinging a cane from one hand.
"Nicholas Flamel!" Albus said, stepping into the room.
Nicholas turned around, and smiled, "Albus Dumbledore."
"How good to see you," Albus shook his hand, "Where have you been?"
"Abroad."
"Abroad! Where to, Nicholas, tell all."
And so they sat for the afternoon talking, much as they did in their school days. Nicholas had been to France, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Austria, and Spain. He told of his exploits in each place, of the people, the food, the music, the art. Everything about a place that was not dear England seemed to catch Nicholas' fancy.
"I sense a change in you, Nicholas," Albus said, "What is it?"
"Simply that I have become more knowledgeable about the outer world, Albus," Nicholas replied, "I know of a world beyond my spellbooks and my research. You should try it, you know. The reports I have heard since I have been in town are that you do not leave your work for a second. I have read some of your essays, and while they are top quality, I do suggest getting out more often."
"Where to?"
"Well, you might try your parents, first off. They have not seen you since graduation. Maybe I am suffering from lack of judgment but they might miss you, you know. You did not even go for Christmas!"
"I do not wish to return to Drakelane at present. And how do you know if they miss me?"
"Well I went to stay with them for a week."
"You did?"
"Well yes. I am quite to them as their own son, you know. They consider me like a brother to you. But it is quite unfair, I am three hundred seventy-three years older than you, and yet you will not receive their hospitality, only take all their money, while I take all their hospitality and receive no money."
"You have your own fortune," Albus rolled his eyes and poured another glass for them.
"Or maybe you could try making some calls to your old school friends. Geoffrey lives barely four streets over and he has heard nothing of you but what is in the news."
"The Daily Prophet, the London Times, both speak so highly of me, yet none of them have
ever met me face to face."
"Because you do not leave the house any more!" Nicholas exclaimed, "You look very pale indeed!"
"Well what would you suggest, Nicholas?" Albus stood and went to the window, staring down at the busy street, "Breakfast parties? Musicals? Strolling in the town square and making conversation with people I hardly know, who inquire after my parents and my business when all they want to know about is my poor broken heart?"
"Well you can not blame them! Even after all these months, your poor broken heart is still
the main subject of conversation."
"Well my poor broken heart is still just as broken," Albus gripped his glass very tightly, and then said, "I have no desire to socialize with such people."
"You can not stay locked up forever!"
"I can."
"Have some sense, man!"
"What would you have me do?"
"Lady Kalmond is having a ball tonight. You are invited, you know," Nicholas showed Albus an invitation addressed to him, "And you should come. Come and drink champagne, dance...You have not danced since last May. It is not healthy for you."
"I have my work," Albus said, stiffly, for the last time he had danced was with Poppy.
"You have your work - You will ALWAYS have your work, Albus!" Nicholas clapped his shoulder, "Come on! You need a day of fun! I daresay you have shut out and ignored any invitation which my subject you to the torture of a good time."
Albus looked at Nicholas from the corner of his eye and said, "All right. I will attend Lady Kalmond's ball."
"Excellent!" Nicholas drowned his glass, "I will pick you up at eight. Now I have business so I must leave you - "
"What business? It is almost time for dinner. Stay and dine with me."
Nicholas turned, and shuffled around a bit, "I...I have pressing business."
"Ah ah ah!" Albus turned on him and looked suspiciously at his friend, "What business?"
"I am dining with Lord Holl, Mrs. Holl, and Miss Holl."
"Miss Perenelle Holl?" Albus exclaimed, "That lovely Slytherin?"
"Yes, she was a Slytherin."
"She graduated three years before us, did she not?"
"Yes."
"Was she not on holiday with you when you...You know," Albus leaned up against the cool pane of the window.
"Yes, she was."
"But there is an attachment?"
"Yes," Nicholas barely uttered the word and turned a very deep shade of pink, "Now, excuse me, dear friend. I will see you at eight."
The ball was, Albus could not deny, a great deal of fun. He was doted upon by everyone, and danced with many pretty girls, and made many new acquaintances. He was not, however, entirely distracted by the demands of his heart. Every head of dark curls, every wide smile, every pale face, everything that reminded him of Poppy caught his eye, yet it was never her. He spent much of his time craning over heads to see if it was, but it was always some other girl, sometimes an acquaintance of his, sometimes not. If it was not, he would quickly away, for he did not want to talk to anyone who reminded him of her.
Eventually, Albus managed to slip away, towards one in the morning. He wandered down a deserted hallway, gazing at paintings, then out the door to the back lawn. Lady Kalmond's estate was a bit outside of town, so she had lawns, though not very large. There was a rather large pond, or a rather small lake, either one. Albus stood looking at it, and slowly, the voices and the music and the laughter in the house behind him seemed to die away...And he remembered....
// Albus stood at the lake, gazing at the motionless black water. It was late, and he was not supposed to be out of his dormitory, yet he really did not care. Slowly, he reached inside his pocket, and, feeling the small, cold circle of metal, pulled it out and held it upon his palm. It shone brightly in the moonlight, a silver band, with a single, tiny, square-cut aquamarine gemstone on it.
The sight of it caused a breakdown. His emotions overwhelmed him and, for once, he did not feel so superior. For once, his arrogance was not there. He was not so much more brilliant than everyone else, if he too could be felled by love. He, an eighteen-year-old boy, had made a stone that could make him endlessly rich, and he had the power to live forever. Yet what was all that worth, if he could not have her? She was his immortality, and he would have none of it, if he could not have her with him for the rest of eternity. What was the point of living until the end of time, if so far back he would only remember the love had once had, and then lost to a man driven only by jealousy? All of his months, all the weeks, the days, down to the seconds in which he could see the fire, the consistency, the unbreakable love in her gray eyes...All of the time he had loved her...To come down to this...
Albus held the ring between his thumb and his index finger, moving it back and forth, watching it in the light. It dropped back into his palm, and he closed his fingers around it, taking a deep breath, as if to draw energy from it. Then, with a mighty swing of his powerful arm, he cast it into the depths of the lake...He saw the faintest of glimmers, heard the tiniest of splashes...And then silence. Silence all around him except for the unending tearing of his own heart. //
"Albus!"
Albus jumped and turned around. Nicholas was there, holding a glass of champagne.
"What?"
"You have been standing out here for near an hour. I think we had better go home."
"Right," Albus nodded slowly.
"Come on, take this," Nicholas handed him the glass as they walked through the house, "It will make you feel much better."
"I really do not wish to get drunk, Nicholas," Albus took the glass anyways.
"You already are quite drunk, Albus," Nicholas laughed.
"Do you remember what happened the last time you got drunk?" Albus asked as they walked out the front door, "You took the Draught of Living Death."
"Yes, but I am not that drunk, and neither are you, so drink it."
The carriage door was opened for them and they stepped inside, where it was quite dark. Albus was just pulling open the curtain, but Nicholas reached over and stopped his hand.
"I do not like the curtains to be open late at night," He said, "Sometimes...Well, it is just not safe."
Albus looked suspiciously at Nicholas, but nodded, and put the glass to his lips. He tipped it back and drank it all down. Before he could wipe his lips or set the glass down, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed onto the seat, unconscious.
"Driver!" Nicholas called, checking Albus' pulse and then arranging his limbs on the seat, "Diagon Alley please!"