Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, his associates, or the world in which he lives. That honor belongs to J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. and I assure you that I have no desire to infringe upon their rights as owners.
A/N: Sorry it took so long. Motivation was slow in coming, but did come. I've got a direction, and can see the end being five/six chapters away- so long as I don't come up with something else filling up space.
It was two days before the esteemed Headmaster was returned entirely to his senses by whatever evil spirits had whisked him away. He awoke suddenly, sputtering nonsense syllables, and surrounded by the head house-elf, Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall, Nearly-Headless Nick, and a giant, floating lemon drop. Everything was as normal. (Other than the fact that Sir Nicholas and the lemon drop seemed to not be getting on as well as they usually did.)
Dumbledore smiled to himself at their comments.
"Why you big sour-ball! How dare you behave so! And on the deathbed of our own beloved headmaster, Professor Dumbledore himself!"
"Why, you can take that attitude and stick it somewhere!" The lemon drop imparted in the manner by which giant, floating lemon drops impart things. It is, I believe, unique to them.
Dumbledore turned his head to the ghost, ignoring completely the protests from the three living beings. "Sir Nicholas, I regret to inform you that I am not on my deathbed, nor plan to be at any time soon. Your friend, the lemon drop there, assures me of it. You see, it was foretold by our own Professor Trelawney that upon the break of the day which I am to die a gigantic Twinkie will hover above the Hogwarts towers; not a lemon drop."
The three who had continued to protest stopped at this. "Poppy," Minerva muttered to the mediwitch, "Are you sure he's all right?"
The witch nodded solemnly. "He speaks the same way whenever he wakes from a faint or shock- always it is the lemon drops. I fear..."
Dumbledore, exhibiting exceptional timing, chose this moment to sit up.
"I fear," he said, eyes twinkling merrily, "I have forgotten the reason for my faint. If you would break it to me gently, perhaps?"
The trio exchanged glances. Showing remarkable state-of-mind, the head-elf said, slowly, "Sir, you is fainting. You is fainting, sir, when you is seeing a- picture. Sir Cadogan, sir, Sir Cadogan has a- a- a tattoo!"
To their relief, Dumbledore did not seem to require any more prompting. The memory, only partially blocked, flowed back to him before their very eyes.
"Oooh- sweet!" the lemon drop whistled at the image of the tattoo which Dumbledore projected on his wide forehead.
"Shut up!" Sir Nicholas hissed, batting the image away.
This time Dumbledore ignored their antics, his expression suddenly serious. "The tattoo... oh, Merlin!"
He sat straight, pushing the covers aside and making to stand up. The efforts of Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall to prevent him were perfunctory at best, and he waved them aside briskly. "I'm perfectly all right, but I must- I must-"
The Headmaster stopped and looked straight into Minerva's eyes. "The touch-up artist hasn't been yet, has he?" he asked anxiously.
"No, no, but what on earth are you on about that for?"
The two women trailed behind Dumbledore, asking question after unanswered question. Their efforts continued un-rewarded, as the man seemed to be mainly concerned in making his way to his office as quickly as humanly possible.
He swept in after muttering, "Lemon Drops," and headed directly to the bookshelves.
"Oh! How sweet! Your password is chosen for me! I feel so special- so loved- so-"
"Shove it, sugar drop."
"That's lemon drop, you pimsy half-beheaded dwit. Get it right!"
As a magnet is drawn to its opposite so Dumbledore was drawn to a section of the shelves. He thumbed through page after page, going through book after book but always returning them to their place.
"Albus... Albus? Albus, is there something in particular that you are looking for?"
"Yes... Yes, but I'm not finding it. Lemon, find me Hermione Granger. I shall need her help, I daresay- might as well bring the other three, as well. And Sir Cadogan- you can find him, Nick."
"Lemon?" McGonagall got out finally.
Poppy shook her head. "I'm not sure. He's always like that."
"Lemon? After all these years you can only think to call me lemon? I have a name, you know- but you've never bothered to find out, have you? Have you? I didn't think so. Hmmph!" He - for lemon drops are very specific about their gender - huffed off, prodded only slightly by a miffed Sir Nicholas.
* * * * *
Harry and Ginny awoke simultaneously. They looked first to each other, smiling sweetly, and then up, where they saw not the red and gold checkered ceiling of the Gryffindor commons room, but -
"What do you want, Ron?" Harry asked resignedly.
"And you, Hermione?" Ginny added.
"Oh, I'm just here for the show!" Hermione said, pertly. "You all have been out for about sixteen hours, and I imagine that you're both rather hungry, but first, Ron has something to show you. You've missed rather a lot, you know!" She smiled brightly and pulled out a wizard's camera. "Ready, Ron!"
The red-head smirked, then whipped out a gigantic print of the now infamous tattoo. He held it out in front of him, directly in front of the pair, and waited expectantly.
"What on earth?!" Ginny screamed as the camera flashed. Harry looked stunned.
"See, they didn't faint!" Hermione said smugly.
She was interrupted by Ginny, who pointed somewhere over both of their shoulders. "What is that?"
* * * * *
Life as a lemon drop is not as easy as one might think, especially when you're the product of Albus Dumbledore's vastly creative mind. He doesn't come up with normal lemon drops- no, any lemon drops who spring from Dumbledore's imagination have issues beyond Am I sour enough? and Am I too sour?
The poor lemon drop wasn't sure what its issues were, but it knew that it had them. Many of them.
When not annoying the pimsy Sir Nick, a quite amusing target in himself, or flitting through the headmaster's office, he usually spent his time annoying the various paintings. They said that he left a sticky aftertaste in his wake; he didn't really care.
And then there were the times that he contemplated his issues. There was no Mrs. Lemon Drop, indeed, there wasn't even a girlfriend in the picture. Life as a lemon drop can be a sad, sad life. With no close companions of the same - species, of sorts - all that was left was to contemplate the meaning of life.
That never got very far.
Now he was off to find a Hermione Granger, and her little friends, because Albus was afraid that, through a complex combination of image and ritual magic, someone's soul had been compromised.
He can contemplate the spiritual levels of various peoples souls at the same time that he is running a school for magical creatures while a war is going on, but can't come up with a dame for me?
The lemon drop was not impressed.
A/N: All right, a bit crazy at times... but I liked it... and it is actually written... took me awhile, though... greatest apologies to everyone... this is probably getting really annoying... oh, well... thanks to my dear friend, EvilFireWitch... read her stories, they're awesome... yeah....
Tralatah!