Flipped
Chapter Seven: The Twinkle
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, which might belong to a few of the voices in my head, but I'm not totally positive on that yet. Well, I suppose I will know when my voices start to sue me for plagiarism.
A/N: um.. I don't know if no one likes this anymore, or if just no one bothered to review. but its very disheartening to get no reviews for a story. not that I'm begging.. I would just like sum feedback. thanks all who reviewed in previous chapters, if not for chapter 6. Now, on with the torture, erm, story. Hehe.
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Albus Dumbledore sat up quickly in bed, gasping for breath that would not come for many minutes. While he waited for his old lungs to stop heaving, his mind, sharp as ever in his old age, whirled. A jolt in power had awoken him, feeding into his brain and screaming, a terrible breath-taking scream that no human should have to hear in a lifetime. That screaming had been felt by the wise old man as many power sources, coming together as one and bursting forth as one large energy mass. The jolt was felt by the headmaster's keen senses, but he doubted anyone else had felt it. He wondered for a moment what it could have been, many dire situations coming to mind.
He closed his eyes for a moment, reviving a connection he had left dead for many years. The connection was dangerous to have, and the one connected to him must never know. The Headmaster of the school did not often open the connection willfully, but at the moment, he felt it was needed. After a few moments, where sweat appeared on the old man's face, and he appeared straining to reach something just out of grasp, the old man open his eyes wide in shock, and promptly fell out of his grand four poster bed.
With some grumbling, he picked himself up, elderly joints groaning in protest. He frowned, and hurried to his door, pausing only long enough to wave his wand and acquire clothes and a robe. He rushed out of his rooms, muttering under his breath hurriedly.
"Minerva," whispered a voice in a sleeping woman's ear. "Minerva, you are needed." The transfigurations professor awoke with a start, and looked wildly around her for the source of the voice. "Minerva," it stated again, a bit impatiently this time.
"Yes, Albus?" she answered, recognizing it at last. She didn't question his ability to hear her any more than he questioned her ability to hear him. She waited expectantly for the headmaster to state why he had woken her up at, she checked her watch, one o' clock in the morning.
"I need your help, please, Minerva. Meet me outside the Great Hall, please." Minerva nodded sharply, and the invisible connection to the headmaster faded. She quickly cast the spell to acquire clothes and an outer robe, and rushed out the door of her rooms and into the long and twisting corridors of Hogwarts. With the students gone for the summer, it seemed unnaturally devoid of life, even at night, when the children were supposed to be sleeping. Habit made her senses sharp and alert anyway, scanning halls and darkened corners for hiding students out of bed, though her conscious mind told her that none would be there.
These senses also alerted her to another presence in the hall around the bend. She continued quickly, wondering who cold be out this late at night, conveniently forgetting that she herself was out late as well. She was ever so surprised when she tunred the corner, half-expecting to come face to face with a Death Eater or the Headmaster, and saw no one, at first. She then looked down a bit, and saw the miniature Professor Flitwick, the Charms Professor.
"Good evening, Filius," she said sternly, then adding, as an afterthought, "What are you doing out so late?"
"I don't rightly know, Minerva," the stout professor answered squeakily. "Urgent news, apparently. Dumbledore called me." Minerva straightened.
"Then I suggest we both hurry to the Great Hall. He'll be waiting." Without another word the two professors headed downstairs to the Entrance Hall. They paused only long enough to wonder where their headmaster was, when he appeared on their left, looking grim.
"Thank you both for coming. We need to hurry outside the grounds. We need to apparate."
"with respect headmaster, where are we apparating?" asked the short wizard curiously.
The headmaster looked at him for a moment before replying.
"The Burrow, home of the Weasley's."
With these short words he turned on his heel and walked out the great oak doors. Both professors behind him allowed themselves only a confused looked passed, and swiftly followed the headmaster with one thought between them:
This could not be good.
The three professors appeared out of thin air, as if from the ground itself, many miles away, and found themselves standing in what looked like a war zone.
The ground was littered with tattered and broken pieces of wood, smoldering ruins in what had probably once been a happy home. The two teachers looked shocked, the headmaster grave.
"Albus-" Minerva whispered, but Dumbledore cut her off.
"I am afraid there is little we can do to help them now." He looked odd, she thought for a moment, but couldn't place what was off about the old man. She didn't have time to ponder it, as the headmaster shook his head, and turned and headed towards a group of Aurors that were gathered at one corner of the once house.
Minerva followed him, and Filius, the aging Charms professor, followed her, stopping periodically to look at some artifact in the ruble that was the house. As the headmaster arrived in the group of Aurors, he nodded politely to acknowledge them.
"Evening," he told them, his severe tone settling around them palpably. The Aurors nodded respectfully, and began to tell the headmaster what they believed to have transpired.
Minerva, watching the headmaster closely, realized with a start what was wrong with him. His eyes. His face wore a grim expression, but that was to be expected in such times. His mouth was a firm frown, almost sad in some ways, but his eyes were what Minerva found truly disturbing. They were a dull, damp pewter, with not an ounce of the usual merry twinkle that presided in them. Minerva had sent eh twinkle disappear before, in the fury that played out on the powerful wizard's face once in a great while. That look of pure hatred and seething fury was seen by few, but all cowered before it. But that was not what the headmaster's face was now.
Now, the old man looked just that. Truly aging, and his eyes betrayed that weariness. They were neither full of a twinkle, nor barely controlled rage, but a dead, lifeless color, and the simple effect left the transfigurations professor horrified at the change in her colleague.
While the headmaster was conversing with the ministry officials, and Minerva was hovering over his shoulder, listening in, Filius, curious as always, studied the remnants of the house. He saw the glitter of magic as it appeared to him, a master in charms, and frowned at the ground, as if trying to decipher a very hard puzzle. He muttered once or twice to himself, and continued through the large ruble and gravel. He saw the glitter of magic in the kitchen, where the Mrs. Weasley had most likely been cooking with all sorts of spells and charms. He smiled ruefully. She always had been excellent in his classes.
He continued, to the other rooms of what he assumed had been their house, observing the shattered wood and brass of an old family clock, and the large lump that could only be once used furniture. He looked slightly into what he assumed had been the living room, making out the dusty pile of bricks that had been the family fireplace and entrance to the Floo network. He shook his small head as he turned form this, to search the rest of the house. He couldn't say what he was searching for, but something called to him, to scour the remnants closely, leaving nothing unobserved. When he turned to the wing that had held bedrooms, he let escape a small gasp.
In his eyes- eyes that normally saw magic as a flicker or twinkle- one room of the bedrooms flared, undying and bright as a star close up. He rushed into the mess, overturning debris and clutters of who-knew-what. He reached the light just as it dimmed slightly. He wondered what it could be for a moment, and if it was possibly dangerous, but disregarded these thoughts. The feeling emitting from the light in front of him spoke to the small teacher of peace, safety, and reminded him of his long forgotten family, sitting together by the fire.
He approached the last few feet slowly, looking at the ground hard for the source. When he was practically on top of, or inside, the light, he bent down, and let his magical sense take over for his eyes.
The thing emitting this aura was right there, in front of him, under that pile of tattered blankets and plastic. The professor opened his eyes again, and quickly dug into the ruble, searching carefully, but frantically. Finally, he overturned what appeared to be part of a bed, and upended it roughly to see what was underneath, and gasped again.
Blue eyes stared back at him, glittering peacefully from a dirty, minute face. Red hair struggled with soot and ash, leaving the result a mass of messy, partly flaming, partly grey and powdery hair. His face was dirty, covered in streaks of soot and dirt, but he seemed to be alive.
Flitwick stared, not daring to move, for fear the illusion of a child would fade, leaving the horror of death in its' wake. But the child, toddler, really, judging by the baby fat still evident in his face, was stoic, with only his eyes moving, following the short wizard brightly. Flitwick, his mouth hanging open, could only wonder, when the small boy began to whimper. He struggled, and that snapped the professor out of his reverie.
"Dumbledore!" he shouted, while moving to remove more of the debris from the boy's frame. He seemed to be pinned underneath something, and Flitwick had to shove a particularly heavy something out of the way before the small boy was free.
By this time, Dumbledore had traveled the distance halfway between where he had been and Flitwick, and the younger wizard called again.
"Hurry Dumbledore! You've got to come see!" He gently picked up the child and stood up. There was a collective gasp from all watching, and Dumbledore himself staggered at the sight of the boy in the small Charms Professor's arms. The young boy smiled at this reaction, devouring the attention. Some part of Flitwick's mind laughed at that, as the small boy probably never got attention centered on him in his home. This thought also brought tears to the professor's eyes, as it was undoubtedly clear that the rest of this young boy's family would never be able to not pay attention to the boy again.
Just then, interrupting the professor's deep thoughts, Dumbledore came up to him, eyes wide, and mouth slightly open. This, along with everything else that the Charms Professor had seen that night, added to the surrealism of it all. Dumbledore was never surprised. Flitwick had never seen it happen before. But here he was, the headmaster of Hogwarts, most powerful wizard in existence, speechless at the sight of a small boy who should defiantly have not been here.
"Ronald?" Dumbledore said, amazedly. The boy bounced happily in Flitwick's arms, rewarding the headmaster with an angelic smile. The headmaster, seemingly aware of his surroundings for the first time, let his eyes travel around to the Aurors, to Professor McGonagall, who stared as well, to stare at Flitwick himself.
"How did you know, Filius?" Dumbledore asked, getting his grip, and no longer looking quite so amazed at the presence of a toddler in a war zone.
"I-I don't know, Headmaster. I simply knew to look around, and saw his aura. It was brighter than I have ever seen, but it faded eventually." And indeed the aura had faded, the light bleeding off in Flitwick's magical vision until it was the normal steady glow that all wizards and witches carried. Dumbledore looked thoughtful, but nodded, and said nothing of Flitwick's story then.
"Interesting," he muttered, and moved to take the babe from Flitwick's arms. Young Ronald, it seemed was his name, bounced happily in Dumbledore's arms, looking at all of the people staring at him. It seemed to be unnerving, for the child began to whimper again. He hid his face in Dumbledore's robes, to the amusement of the rest of the onlookers. A few of the Aurors produced chuckles, and McGonagall's lip twitched, the closest she ever got to a real smile these days. But the gravity of the situation prevailed, and they soon caught themselves.
Dumbledore simply stood and starred, pondering the puzzles in his extraordinary mind. For a moment, all present simply starred at the three figures. The headmaster, the child in his arms, and the serene looking Charms Professor. It seemed surreal. Most defiantly surreal.
But before long, that headmaster seemed to work out, or simply give up whatever he had been pondering, and turned to the others.
"It seems a miracle has happened, my friends. I know not how, exactly, or why, but this child survived one of the attacks of the most feared dark wizard of the times. And though the Weasleys, a prominent and loved family in the wizarding world is gone, all but one, who is alive to tell the tale of an attack of Voldemort. Well," he amended thoughtfully, ignoring the cringes at the mention of the name, "maybe alive to tell it, but not able." His lips gave a slight twitch, as if he wanted to smile, but held himself back. But he continued, "but it seems to me, and I have had it confirmed, that this most feared dark lord is, to put it quite simply, gone."
This statement seemed to shake the young and old Aurors present, and they all began talking at once, questioning and shouting at the headmaster.
They stopped, however, when Dumbledore held up one slender hand. "Please, I cannot answer your questions as of now, but let me assure you, I am not wrong in this assessment. The Dark Lord is gone, and I believe this boy," he gestured gently to Ronald, whose face was still hidden in the folds of his cloak, "I believe Ronald is the cause of his disappearance."
This statement, contradicting to the last one, produced a stunned silence. The idea that a boy, a toddler, with no extraordinary powers seen, could defeat a wizard that had been terrorizing Britain for fourteen years now, was ludicrous to these top ministry Aurors, of course. But if Dumbledore stood behind it so steadfastly, how could it be myth. And the Dark Lord, gone? Could it be possible?
Dumbledore smiled at them all knowingly, and began to move off with the child still in his arms. Flitwick, forgotten, until now, had been thinking the entire time, and spoke now, to the surprise of the ministry workers in front of him.
"Dumbledore," he called squeakily, and the headmaster turned to stare at him. "What will you do with the child? Does he have a family to go to?" Flitwick seemed unnaturally concerned with this, and stared hard at the headmaster until Dumbledore spoke.
"I will speak of this with you later, dear Filius," he answered, a smile in his voice, if not on his face. At this, he turned toward the Aurors, face alight with mystery and happiness, to those who knew him well enough to detect it. "Please," he told them, giving a small smile finally, "go back to the ministry and tell them what I have told you, and what you have seen here. They will be able to confirm it for you: for the world, shortly."
With that, he nodded to his two professors, who noted with glee that the headmaster's eyes had a slight twinkle back to them.
And the three professors, the headmaster with the child still asleep in his arms, apparated to the well-known safe haven of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
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Well? Please review and tell me what you think, I really need the feedback, and the support.. That is all. Thank you.
To my loyal reviewers:
Ryuuko Megami: thank you for the originality comment, I try to get all my stories really original. I loathe clichés!!
Kathy: I luv ron too!!! He's my total fave, especially since the 2nd movie.. hes so funny in it! and I always like to write in a diff pov, makes the story interesting!!
Leanne: well, here's more, can you handle it?? ;)
Lily of the Valley: I hope it hasn't come into too many ppls minds. I thought I owned the plot.. sorta. oh well. Too late now, I suppose! :D lol.
RedVampirySlayer)Dev.HunterS: I kno rons family is poor, but I tried to make it realistic as well. they would at least get sum gifts. I assume your talking about the brooms and stuff. well, Arthur and molly saved for a long time to be able to buy that stuff. but if its sumthing else, please don't hesitate to tell me in a review!
Everyone else who reviewed. I think I covered everyone who reviewed since august, but feel free to review now (*hinthint*) and ill get back to ya!! Thanks to all reviewers, beta, and muses.. Yes, even my muses, who struck me at odd hours, (such as three am, or in math class. hehe, math is boring anyway, having raving lunatics in my head screaming to start writing stories just makes it more interesting!) and everyone who gave encouragement on this story! And don't worry, its not even nearly over!!!! *grins* Tootles all! LkoK
Next chappy: Ron and what they will do with him (ie, where hes gonna go!!! ) thanks again all!
Chapter Seven: The Twinkle
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, which might belong to a few of the voices in my head, but I'm not totally positive on that yet. Well, I suppose I will know when my voices start to sue me for plagiarism.
A/N: um.. I don't know if no one likes this anymore, or if just no one bothered to review. but its very disheartening to get no reviews for a story. not that I'm begging.. I would just like sum feedback. thanks all who reviewed in previous chapters, if not for chapter 6. Now, on with the torture, erm, story. Hehe.
oo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00oo
Albus Dumbledore sat up quickly in bed, gasping for breath that would not come for many minutes. While he waited for his old lungs to stop heaving, his mind, sharp as ever in his old age, whirled. A jolt in power had awoken him, feeding into his brain and screaming, a terrible breath-taking scream that no human should have to hear in a lifetime. That screaming had been felt by the wise old man as many power sources, coming together as one and bursting forth as one large energy mass. The jolt was felt by the headmaster's keen senses, but he doubted anyone else had felt it. He wondered for a moment what it could have been, many dire situations coming to mind.
He closed his eyes for a moment, reviving a connection he had left dead for many years. The connection was dangerous to have, and the one connected to him must never know. The Headmaster of the school did not often open the connection willfully, but at the moment, he felt it was needed. After a few moments, where sweat appeared on the old man's face, and he appeared straining to reach something just out of grasp, the old man open his eyes wide in shock, and promptly fell out of his grand four poster bed.
With some grumbling, he picked himself up, elderly joints groaning in protest. He frowned, and hurried to his door, pausing only long enough to wave his wand and acquire clothes and a robe. He rushed out of his rooms, muttering under his breath hurriedly.
"Minerva," whispered a voice in a sleeping woman's ear. "Minerva, you are needed." The transfigurations professor awoke with a start, and looked wildly around her for the source of the voice. "Minerva," it stated again, a bit impatiently this time.
"Yes, Albus?" she answered, recognizing it at last. She didn't question his ability to hear her any more than he questioned her ability to hear him. She waited expectantly for the headmaster to state why he had woken her up at, she checked her watch, one o' clock in the morning.
"I need your help, please, Minerva. Meet me outside the Great Hall, please." Minerva nodded sharply, and the invisible connection to the headmaster faded. She quickly cast the spell to acquire clothes and an outer robe, and rushed out the door of her rooms and into the long and twisting corridors of Hogwarts. With the students gone for the summer, it seemed unnaturally devoid of life, even at night, when the children were supposed to be sleeping. Habit made her senses sharp and alert anyway, scanning halls and darkened corners for hiding students out of bed, though her conscious mind told her that none would be there.
These senses also alerted her to another presence in the hall around the bend. She continued quickly, wondering who cold be out this late at night, conveniently forgetting that she herself was out late as well. She was ever so surprised when she tunred the corner, half-expecting to come face to face with a Death Eater or the Headmaster, and saw no one, at first. She then looked down a bit, and saw the miniature Professor Flitwick, the Charms Professor.
"Good evening, Filius," she said sternly, then adding, as an afterthought, "What are you doing out so late?"
"I don't rightly know, Minerva," the stout professor answered squeakily. "Urgent news, apparently. Dumbledore called me." Minerva straightened.
"Then I suggest we both hurry to the Great Hall. He'll be waiting." Without another word the two professors headed downstairs to the Entrance Hall. They paused only long enough to wonder where their headmaster was, when he appeared on their left, looking grim.
"Thank you both for coming. We need to hurry outside the grounds. We need to apparate."
"with respect headmaster, where are we apparating?" asked the short wizard curiously.
The headmaster looked at him for a moment before replying.
"The Burrow, home of the Weasley's."
With these short words he turned on his heel and walked out the great oak doors. Both professors behind him allowed themselves only a confused looked passed, and swiftly followed the headmaster with one thought between them:
This could not be good.
The three professors appeared out of thin air, as if from the ground itself, many miles away, and found themselves standing in what looked like a war zone.
The ground was littered with tattered and broken pieces of wood, smoldering ruins in what had probably once been a happy home. The two teachers looked shocked, the headmaster grave.
"Albus-" Minerva whispered, but Dumbledore cut her off.
"I am afraid there is little we can do to help them now." He looked odd, she thought for a moment, but couldn't place what was off about the old man. She didn't have time to ponder it, as the headmaster shook his head, and turned and headed towards a group of Aurors that were gathered at one corner of the once house.
Minerva followed him, and Filius, the aging Charms professor, followed her, stopping periodically to look at some artifact in the ruble that was the house. As the headmaster arrived in the group of Aurors, he nodded politely to acknowledge them.
"Evening," he told them, his severe tone settling around them palpably. The Aurors nodded respectfully, and began to tell the headmaster what they believed to have transpired.
Minerva, watching the headmaster closely, realized with a start what was wrong with him. His eyes. His face wore a grim expression, but that was to be expected in such times. His mouth was a firm frown, almost sad in some ways, but his eyes were what Minerva found truly disturbing. They were a dull, damp pewter, with not an ounce of the usual merry twinkle that presided in them. Minerva had sent eh twinkle disappear before, in the fury that played out on the powerful wizard's face once in a great while. That look of pure hatred and seething fury was seen by few, but all cowered before it. But that was not what the headmaster's face was now.
Now, the old man looked just that. Truly aging, and his eyes betrayed that weariness. They were neither full of a twinkle, nor barely controlled rage, but a dead, lifeless color, and the simple effect left the transfigurations professor horrified at the change in her colleague.
While the headmaster was conversing with the ministry officials, and Minerva was hovering over his shoulder, listening in, Filius, curious as always, studied the remnants of the house. He saw the glitter of magic as it appeared to him, a master in charms, and frowned at the ground, as if trying to decipher a very hard puzzle. He muttered once or twice to himself, and continued through the large ruble and gravel. He saw the glitter of magic in the kitchen, where the Mrs. Weasley had most likely been cooking with all sorts of spells and charms. He smiled ruefully. She always had been excellent in his classes.
He continued, to the other rooms of what he assumed had been their house, observing the shattered wood and brass of an old family clock, and the large lump that could only be once used furniture. He looked slightly into what he assumed had been the living room, making out the dusty pile of bricks that had been the family fireplace and entrance to the Floo network. He shook his small head as he turned form this, to search the rest of the house. He couldn't say what he was searching for, but something called to him, to scour the remnants closely, leaving nothing unobserved. When he turned to the wing that had held bedrooms, he let escape a small gasp.
In his eyes- eyes that normally saw magic as a flicker or twinkle- one room of the bedrooms flared, undying and bright as a star close up. He rushed into the mess, overturning debris and clutters of who-knew-what. He reached the light just as it dimmed slightly. He wondered what it could be for a moment, and if it was possibly dangerous, but disregarded these thoughts. The feeling emitting from the light in front of him spoke to the small teacher of peace, safety, and reminded him of his long forgotten family, sitting together by the fire.
He approached the last few feet slowly, looking at the ground hard for the source. When he was practically on top of, or inside, the light, he bent down, and let his magical sense take over for his eyes.
The thing emitting this aura was right there, in front of him, under that pile of tattered blankets and plastic. The professor opened his eyes again, and quickly dug into the ruble, searching carefully, but frantically. Finally, he overturned what appeared to be part of a bed, and upended it roughly to see what was underneath, and gasped again.
Blue eyes stared back at him, glittering peacefully from a dirty, minute face. Red hair struggled with soot and ash, leaving the result a mass of messy, partly flaming, partly grey and powdery hair. His face was dirty, covered in streaks of soot and dirt, but he seemed to be alive.
Flitwick stared, not daring to move, for fear the illusion of a child would fade, leaving the horror of death in its' wake. But the child, toddler, really, judging by the baby fat still evident in his face, was stoic, with only his eyes moving, following the short wizard brightly. Flitwick, his mouth hanging open, could only wonder, when the small boy began to whimper. He struggled, and that snapped the professor out of his reverie.
"Dumbledore!" he shouted, while moving to remove more of the debris from the boy's frame. He seemed to be pinned underneath something, and Flitwick had to shove a particularly heavy something out of the way before the small boy was free.
By this time, Dumbledore had traveled the distance halfway between where he had been and Flitwick, and the younger wizard called again.
"Hurry Dumbledore! You've got to come see!" He gently picked up the child and stood up. There was a collective gasp from all watching, and Dumbledore himself staggered at the sight of the boy in the small Charms Professor's arms. The young boy smiled at this reaction, devouring the attention. Some part of Flitwick's mind laughed at that, as the small boy probably never got attention centered on him in his home. This thought also brought tears to the professor's eyes, as it was undoubtedly clear that the rest of this young boy's family would never be able to not pay attention to the boy again.
Just then, interrupting the professor's deep thoughts, Dumbledore came up to him, eyes wide, and mouth slightly open. This, along with everything else that the Charms Professor had seen that night, added to the surrealism of it all. Dumbledore was never surprised. Flitwick had never seen it happen before. But here he was, the headmaster of Hogwarts, most powerful wizard in existence, speechless at the sight of a small boy who should defiantly have not been here.
"Ronald?" Dumbledore said, amazedly. The boy bounced happily in Flitwick's arms, rewarding the headmaster with an angelic smile. The headmaster, seemingly aware of his surroundings for the first time, let his eyes travel around to the Aurors, to Professor McGonagall, who stared as well, to stare at Flitwick himself.
"How did you know, Filius?" Dumbledore asked, getting his grip, and no longer looking quite so amazed at the presence of a toddler in a war zone.
"I-I don't know, Headmaster. I simply knew to look around, and saw his aura. It was brighter than I have ever seen, but it faded eventually." And indeed the aura had faded, the light bleeding off in Flitwick's magical vision until it was the normal steady glow that all wizards and witches carried. Dumbledore looked thoughtful, but nodded, and said nothing of Flitwick's story then.
"Interesting," he muttered, and moved to take the babe from Flitwick's arms. Young Ronald, it seemed was his name, bounced happily in Dumbledore's arms, looking at all of the people staring at him. It seemed to be unnerving, for the child began to whimper again. He hid his face in Dumbledore's robes, to the amusement of the rest of the onlookers. A few of the Aurors produced chuckles, and McGonagall's lip twitched, the closest she ever got to a real smile these days. But the gravity of the situation prevailed, and they soon caught themselves.
Dumbledore simply stood and starred, pondering the puzzles in his extraordinary mind. For a moment, all present simply starred at the three figures. The headmaster, the child in his arms, and the serene looking Charms Professor. It seemed surreal. Most defiantly surreal.
But before long, that headmaster seemed to work out, or simply give up whatever he had been pondering, and turned to the others.
"It seems a miracle has happened, my friends. I know not how, exactly, or why, but this child survived one of the attacks of the most feared dark wizard of the times. And though the Weasleys, a prominent and loved family in the wizarding world is gone, all but one, who is alive to tell the tale of an attack of Voldemort. Well," he amended thoughtfully, ignoring the cringes at the mention of the name, "maybe alive to tell it, but not able." His lips gave a slight twitch, as if he wanted to smile, but held himself back. But he continued, "but it seems to me, and I have had it confirmed, that this most feared dark lord is, to put it quite simply, gone."
This statement seemed to shake the young and old Aurors present, and they all began talking at once, questioning and shouting at the headmaster.
They stopped, however, when Dumbledore held up one slender hand. "Please, I cannot answer your questions as of now, but let me assure you, I am not wrong in this assessment. The Dark Lord is gone, and I believe this boy," he gestured gently to Ronald, whose face was still hidden in the folds of his cloak, "I believe Ronald is the cause of his disappearance."
This statement, contradicting to the last one, produced a stunned silence. The idea that a boy, a toddler, with no extraordinary powers seen, could defeat a wizard that had been terrorizing Britain for fourteen years now, was ludicrous to these top ministry Aurors, of course. But if Dumbledore stood behind it so steadfastly, how could it be myth. And the Dark Lord, gone? Could it be possible?
Dumbledore smiled at them all knowingly, and began to move off with the child still in his arms. Flitwick, forgotten, until now, had been thinking the entire time, and spoke now, to the surprise of the ministry workers in front of him.
"Dumbledore," he called squeakily, and the headmaster turned to stare at him. "What will you do with the child? Does he have a family to go to?" Flitwick seemed unnaturally concerned with this, and stared hard at the headmaster until Dumbledore spoke.
"I will speak of this with you later, dear Filius," he answered, a smile in his voice, if not on his face. At this, he turned toward the Aurors, face alight with mystery and happiness, to those who knew him well enough to detect it. "Please," he told them, giving a small smile finally, "go back to the ministry and tell them what I have told you, and what you have seen here. They will be able to confirm it for you: for the world, shortly."
With that, he nodded to his two professors, who noted with glee that the headmaster's eyes had a slight twinkle back to them.
And the three professors, the headmaster with the child still asleep in his arms, apparated to the well-known safe haven of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Oo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00ooOOoo00oo
Well? Please review and tell me what you think, I really need the feedback, and the support.. That is all. Thank you.
To my loyal reviewers:
Ryuuko Megami: thank you for the originality comment, I try to get all my stories really original. I loathe clichés!!
Kathy: I luv ron too!!! He's my total fave, especially since the 2nd movie.. hes so funny in it! and I always like to write in a diff pov, makes the story interesting!!
Leanne: well, here's more, can you handle it?? ;)
Lily of the Valley: I hope it hasn't come into too many ppls minds. I thought I owned the plot.. sorta. oh well. Too late now, I suppose! :D lol.
RedVampirySlayer)Dev.HunterS: I kno rons family is poor, but I tried to make it realistic as well. they would at least get sum gifts. I assume your talking about the brooms and stuff. well, Arthur and molly saved for a long time to be able to buy that stuff. but if its sumthing else, please don't hesitate to tell me in a review!
Everyone else who reviewed. I think I covered everyone who reviewed since august, but feel free to review now (*hinthint*) and ill get back to ya!! Thanks to all reviewers, beta, and muses.. Yes, even my muses, who struck me at odd hours, (such as three am, or in math class. hehe, math is boring anyway, having raving lunatics in my head screaming to start writing stories just makes it more interesting!) and everyone who gave encouragement on this story! And don't worry, its not even nearly over!!!! *grins* Tootles all! LkoK
Next chappy: Ron and what they will do with him (ie, where hes gonna go!!! ) thanks again all!