Title – A Slowly Breaking Heart 1/1
Rating – PG-13/T
Disclaimer – I own none of this, it all belongs to Rowling. I just have the honour or using her creations in my story. NO sex or slash.
Warnings - Character deaths, violence, strong images of gore/torture, angst.
Summary – When a battle with Death Eaters goes horribly wrong, Albus Dumbledore is left to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart. One-Shot.
A/N – Yeah, I don't really know where this one came from and I can't believe I pushed it out in a week considering it's quite long. Consider it a peace offering while I work on other fics. This takes place a year after Harry and Co. have left Hogwarts but they have yet to defeat Voldemort. Read and enjoy!
A Slowly Breaking Heart
It was one of those things that never should have happened.
He never should have had to make a choice.
But, looking back on everything that had happened that fateful day, he realized that there was nothing he could have done differently.
Some things, he realizes much, much later, are meant to happen. Fate has a way of interfering just when you don't want her to. Despite the best-laid plans, the careful preparation, the scouting and the meticulous organization things do go wrong.
So horribly wrong.
- & -
They had underestimated their opponents. Plain and simple.
It was supposed to be a major strike against Voldemort – an offensive launched against one of his most powerful supporters. Acting on information provided by Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy, the Order of the Phoenix, in coordination with the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, planned and organized the raid on Malfoy Manor.
Ever since Lucius Malfoy had bribed and blackmailed his way out of Azkaban, the Malfoy patriarch had proven to be as cunning and slippery as a serpent. Efforts by the Ministry to find evidence that would again convict Lucius as a loyal Death Eater had turned up empty and similar investigations by the Order had hit dead end after dead end. Meanwhile Lucius' influence over certain sections of the Ministry had increased, as well as his influence among previously neutral factions of wizarding society, especially on the continent. Malfoy had become such a powerful player in the war that it was the consensus of the Order that something had to be done to stop him and by default Voldemort.
Various members of the Order worked for a full month planning the raid, sending Aurors to scout the Wiltshire area, summoning allies and backup, dividing everyone into teams with assigned tasks. Dumbledore was at the head of this effort, as usual, supervising and approving the plans that would make this attack successful. He could normally be seen deep in conversation with Snape, pouring over the blueprints and defences of Malfoy Manor. Since Snape had been revealed as a spy within the Death Eater ranks, the Potions master had offered his services to the Order in other ways; preparing vital potions, keeping track of things inside Hogwarts when Dumbledore was away and providing much needed information on his former associates and friends.
Occasionally young Draco would join them, whenever he could escape to Grimmauld Place unnoticed by his family and Death Eater friends. The summer after he had left Hogwarts, Draco had been initiated into the Death Eaters, with his parents proudly looking on. But at some point during that fateful summer, he had secretly decided to make his own future and not blindly follow in his father's footsteps. He had been accepted into the Order barely 6 months ago as their new spy in the Inner Circle, keeping track of his father's movements and dealings from within the Manor they were about to assault.
Dumbledore did not miss the pleased glances Snape would send Draco's way or how the Potions master's eyes would light up in pride. He took Draco under his wing, explaining to young Malfoy the best ways to stay in Voldemort's good graces and avoid suspicion while retrieving information at the same time. The Slytherin Head of House considered Draco one of his success stories and only in private would he admit to hoping that more of his House would follow Draco's example to think for themselves and make their own choices.
Neither of them, however, noticed the calculating looks and arrogant smirks from the blond wizard.
- & -
One of the things he remembers with startling clarity about that day is that it was raining.
It was not raining at Hogwarts; the weather in Wiltshire, location of the Malfoy estate, had been cloudy all day and the storm continued well past midnight, the scheduled time of the raid. He supposes he remembers the weather, out of all the things to remember about that day, because of a final conversation.
Dumbledore stood at the front of the Great Hall; eyes wandering over the assembled crowd, anxiously waiting for the scouts to return and give the all clear sign. It was the middle of September and the beginning of term, but the castle ghosts and the professors he had asked to stay behind were watching the dormitories closely and keeping curious students away from the Hall. Professors Flitwick, Vector and Madame Hooch were huddled with their own strike teams, going over their specific roles yet again.
His gaze swept over Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley as they spoke with Remus Lupin. They were still too young to be introduced to war in Dumbledore's opinion, but it was almost impossible to keep those three out of the action. They had joined the Order as soon as they had left Hogwarts and were eager to do their part in fighting Voldemort. Ron had been especially eager in planning the raid; he had grudgingly agreed to work with Draco, but would not pass up the chance to strike back against Lucius.
He watched as Shacklebolt gave last minute orders to the Auror contingent of the raid and smiled when Tonks accidentally bumped into the Ravenclaw table and would have fallen to the floor if Mad Eye Moody had not steadied her.
Finally he turned his gaze to the silently brooding wizard next to him. Snape was staring at the enchanted ceiling, as if he could see the stormy weather that was in reality so far away.
Dumbledore had wanted Snape to stay at Hogwarts, where he would be safe, but the former spy would hear none of it and demanded to participate in the raid. Having learned his lesson the hard way with Sirius, Dumbledore acquiesced and allowed Snape to come along. After all, he reasoned to himself, Snape had intimate knowledge of Malfoy Manor and knew all the best ways to fight Death Eaters. No sense in letting such knowledge waste away, trapped against its will in Hogwarts.
"The rain will hinder the fliers."
The voice was soft and smooth as always but Dumbledore could hear the underlying anticipation and anxiety. He knew they were all feeling pre-battle nerves and did his best to dispel them.
"Madame Hooch has excellent people under her command Severus; she will take care of them."
"I hope all of the teams have taken this storm into account. I've seen too many raids fail because of uncontrollable elements like weather."
"Don't worry my boy; we are all prepared to deal with some rain and wind. I'm not too worried about it."
Snape made a non-committal noise and shifted impatiently.
"Draco has assured me his parents will be asleep and is expecting us at midnight exactly."
Dumbledore nodded and pulled out his pocket watch. The hands were pointed at 'Time to Rally the Troops.' The moment had arrived.
- & -
It is at this point that he wished he had a time turner strong enough to go back and stop things before it all fell apart.
- & -
Everything had gone smoothly, exactly like they had planned. They had breached the outer wards of the Malfoy estate at ten minutes past midnight and were now stalking up to the manor itself. The rain beat down on them unmercifully and frequent strikes of lightning illuminated the dark sky and Hooch's fliers silently landing on the rooftop. The only other lights were the few dim torches glowing from inside the manor.
Dumbledore checked to make sure his team was in place. As the leaders of the raid it was up to them to give the signal and begin the attack on the second shield of wards that protected the manor. Snape was a few paces off to his right and even through the rain he saw the Potions master frown slightly and raise his wand. Dark eyes darted around the silent grounds and just as he turned to voice his uncertainties light burst forth from the manor, as all the torches and lamps came to life, enveloping the attackers and surrounding grounds.
Instinct drove everyone to search for cover and cast protective shields over themselves. Surprised and wary eyes stared at the Manor, waiting for some sign of what was going on. Dumbledore felt his heart drop and his inner voice told him to issue the retreat now. But before he could raise his wand the front doors of the manor swung open and someone stepped out onto the porch.
He should have paid closer attention to the younger Malfoy. Should have probed a bit deeper into his social and private life. He should not have let the stresses of running a war cloud his judgment and tries to ignore the sharp pain of betrayal and dread stabbing through his heart.
They had neglected to keep a sharp eye on the young serpent and now he had delivered a fatal bite.
"Awfully late for a visit don't you think Headmaster?" Draco calls out from the safety of the porch and smirks, crossing his arms arrogantly. His blood turned to ice as Lucius stepped out of the shadows to stand next to his son and lay a hand on Draco's shoulder. Both of them are wearing their full Death Eater robes and have their wands ready in their hands. Narcissa joins them a second later, still managing to look aloof and haughty while prepared for battle.
Only years of control and experience keeps him from leaping up and wiping the smug look from their faces with a few well-placed and probably illegal hexes. Instead he replies calmly,
"Not at all. Do you care to explain yourself Mr. Malfoy?"
It is Lucius who answers, the silky voice cutting effortlessly through the noise of the storm.
"I think my son has made his allegiances quite clear Dumbledore. You should pay more attention to those you allow into your sacred Order, that is, if there is a next time."
He is eternally grateful to the quick thinking Hermione Granger who sends up the red sparks for the retreat seconds before the actual trap is sprung, or the losses might have been much higher than they were.
"Bloody hell." Says someone next to him and then all other thoughts are banished for the battle is on.
Death Eaters appear out of the shadows in all directions, wands out and spells ready. It is clear they are hunting to kill, not capture and he does not have time to grieve for the few of his people struck unaware before curses are sent his way. He deftly spins out of the way, dropping the first Death Eater with a painful bone breaking hex and deflecting the next curse back to its sender. In a stroke of good luck, Draco had not been informed about Hooch's fliers and they swoop down from the sky, surprising the Death Eaters and giving them just enough time to make their retreat. Now is not the time to play nice and he quickly clears a path back to the edge of the estate, so the teams that have not already escaped can retreat beyond the outer wards and apparate to safety.
But when Severus gasps and grabs his left arm and Harry grimaces and presses a hand to his scar, he realizes things are about to get much worse.
Lord Voldemort himself walks calmly out of the Malfoy mansion and his red eyes narrow as he catches sight of his prey.
They were not prepared for the Dark Lord. Harry especially was not ready to face Voldemort. While Harry has the magical power necessary to defeat the Dark Lord, he did not yet know how to channel and harness that power. Dumbledore knew he could not let Harry fight Voldemort at this point in time.
His sources had informed him Voldemort was in Germany and not expected to return for another two weeks. The raid was to focus solely on Lucius. Apparently this was yet another part of the admittedly ingenious trap they had walked right into. Keep them pinned down between Death Eaters and they turned into a banquet for Voldemort to feast on as he pleased.
Dumbledore had noticed exactly who Voldemort was looking at and cast a quick pain relieving charm on Harry so the young wizard was not an easy target in the middle of a battle. In the same breath he glanced toward Severus and saw him breathing heavily and gritting his teeth as he continued to duel his masked opponent. There was no spell that would relieve the pain from the Dark Mark and Dumbledore hoped Voldemort would focus on Harry and leave Severus alone.
A sudden scream splits the air and he shivers as a cold sensation crawls across his skin and seeps into his bones.
Dementors.
On the other side of the outer wards dozens of tall and cloaked figures glide toward those still fighting and prevent others from apparating away. They eagerly feed off the heightened emotions of the combatants, causing general chaos. The Dementors are not particular in their attacks, incapacitating Order members and Death Eaters alike, giving even more of them time to reach the apparation points and escape. Some fall victim to their Kiss, but he has no time to help them as Voldemort enters the fray, casting spells in their direction.
His is one of the last teams to reach the edge of the wards. Just a final push and they can apparate away from this terrible mess.
However they are tiring quickly. An unmasked Bellatrix Lestrange is wearing down Harry and the other two members of the Golden Trio, Ron and Hermione, are working hard to keep the Dementors at bay. The other members of their team are guarding the clear path to the apparation points, but loosing ground with every passing second. Severus is engaged in a vicious duel with Lucius Malfoy, leaving Dumbledore to deal with the approaching Voldemort. If they are to flee it must be now.
Pulling out spells that came in handy during his duel with Grindelwald, he managed to force Voldemort to make a retreat of his own and called for everyone who was left to get out. A series of pops told him they were following his directions, but when he looked around he saw Harry and Severus still locked in their respective duels. They were so close to the edge of the estate's wards, but could not spare the concentration needed for apparation.
From the corner of his eye Dumbledore sees Voldemort climb to his feet and snarls in righteous fury. The Dark Lord raises his wand and he instinctively knows Voldemort will want one of them alive. He will want one of them as spoils of a successful night - a trophy, a victim to bear the brunt of his anger. The next spell will not kill, but stun.
Harry and Severus are still unaware of this turn of events. They are distracted by their opponents and by the time either of them notices the danger it will be too late. It will be up to him to get both to safety without getting them all killed or captured.
He realizes then with a sickening lurch of his stomach that he does not have enough energy to take both and apparate away. The sudden duel with Voldemort and the strain of keeping the Dementors and other evil creatures at bay have seriously taxed even his impressive strength. He is going to have to choose one to save and sacrifice the other.
He swore to himself that he would not lose another one. Not after seeing what Sirius's death did to young Harry. He cannot bear seeing the tears, the grief-stricken eyes that inevitably turn to him for guidance and resolution. Even for him, Albus Dumbledore, the pain is much too close. Too fresh. Too raw to even consider losing another one of his children.
But he must. For the greater good of the entire wizarding world he must choose. He must deal with the pain. Albus Dumbledore's feelings are irrelevant. All that matters is the defeat of Voldemort.
Grabbing hold of a thin arm, he pulls the other wizard away from the battle and through the wards. Harry looks up at him, angry that he was torn away from his fight and startled over the sudden movement. His mouth opens to speak when he finally sees Voldemort and the green eyes widen as he glances between the Dark Lord, Dumbledore and Snape. Harry is a quick thinker and realizes what is happening.
Time however is running out and Dumbledore takes one last look at his Slytherin child, blazing the image in his mind forever.
'I'm sorry Severus.' He thinks as he musters his magic for a double apparation.
And then they were gone.
- & -
It's funny how guilt works.
It gnaws at the soul, biting and worming its way deep inside you until all you can feel or think about is the overwhelming guilt and shame. It consumes all other emotions, until your soul is one large gaping wound, bleeding and festering as you slowly die from the inside out. Guilt eats you up and leaves you a shell of your former self, concerned only with the pain and feeding the fires of suffering in your heart.
However guilt also compels you to do something about it, to find a way to stop it before it destroys you completely. It challenges you to end the cycle of remorse that your life inevitably becomes and fix your mistakes. It is a contradictory emotion of sorts, one that can destroy you if left unchecked and one that can save you if you listen to it.
He becomes quite intimate with the notion of guilt and wonders - how long it will take for it to consume him?
- & -
One morning a package arrives.
It is a week after the failed raid and things are slowly healing. They had suffered just a few causalities and surprisingly only five deaths. And, of course, one prisoner.
He personally hears many criticisms from Minister Fudge and his allies for the botched raid, after all the spy came from his Order, not through the Ministry. They accomplished nothing they set out to do that night and walked right into a trap, almost losing the Boy-Who-Lived in the process.
The backlash against Cornelius is quick and vicious and all attempts to discredit Dumbledore and the Order stop right away. He settles back into life as Headmaster and tries to move on, but knows nothing will be the same. The absence of the Slytherin Head of House is questioned immediately and he is forced to bring in a substitute Potions master from Beauxbaton, telling the children Professor Snape has sudden business elsewhere and will be on extended leave. He makes this announcement at dinner one evening, amazed at the steadiness his hands and voice, given that his heart was in turmoil.
The owl comes during breakfast, with the rest of the morning post and drops the small parcel on the table in front of him while he is spreading strawberry jam on his toast. He frowns; all of his mail is directed to his office and slowly sets his knife and bread back down on his plate, wondering who has sent him post here, in the Great Hall. He knows the curious eyes of the rest of his staff are watching him as he examines this new package but he pays them no attention, especially the solemn green eyes that watch him with sympathy from the end of the table.
The package is small and wrapped in plain brown paper. There is no card or any sign of whom it is from. But he knows. Deep in his breaking heart Albus knows whom this package is from. He does not want to open it, simply wants to summon an owl and return this mail to its sender, but he must confirm his suspicions. He must continue to feed the guilt raging in his heart.
With surprisingly steady hands he begins to remove the brown paper and small voice in the back of his mind warns him that he should probably open this in the privacy of his office. He ignores this voice too and when he has unwrapped the package he hesitates only a second before opening the top and looking inside.
What he finds threatens to make him lose the breakfast he has just consumed, but he keeps calm, no outward show of emotion to betray the emotions inside.
Nestled in mass of white tissue paper are two eyes. Black eyes.
The specks of blood indicated that they had been recently removed and not by magical means. There was nothing else inside the box except the two eyes that had once glittered with intelligence and sharp wit but were now dead and empty as lumps of coal.
Dumbledore blinked, swallowed, and then slowly pushed his chair back away from the Head Table. He mechanically closed the lid of the box, gathered up the scattered brown paper and turned to Minerva, who was watching him concernedly. She had not seen what had been in the package, but one look at the Headmaster's ashen face and blank eyes told her something was very wrong.
"Something has come up Minerva. Would you be so kind as to mind the school for me this morning?" He asked in a voice filled with false cheer as he stood.
"Yes of course Albus. Is something wrong?" McGonagall replied, eyes darting to the package in his hands.
"Nothing is wrong my dear. I'll see you at lunch."
He swept out of the Hall, ignoring the confused and concerned whispers of the children.
They mustn't know of the guilt he carries. They mustn't know why.
- & -
A few days later another package arrives. It comes late at night, but he is up anyway answering his mail and going over reports and memos from the Ministry. The owl swoops in silently and drops the package on his desk before disappearing back into the night sky.
He does not know how long he stares at this small, innocent looking package, wishing the owl would come back and take it away. But a morbid part of him realizes this is the closest he will ever get to his lost child and so with a heavy heart he begins to open it, trying not to wonder what is inside.
Underneath the white tissue paper this time is a tongue. Still pink and tender, he can almost hear the echoes of sharp insults and sarcastic comments that once rolled off this tongue like water. He closes his eyes tightly to keep the sudden tears at bay, telling himself he cannot afford to break down now. There is still a war to be won and he must stay strong. Perhaps later he will be allowed to grieve and cry, but now is not the time. Taking several deep breaths Dumbledore carefully rewraps the package and stands, walking toward the fireplace.
Not knowing what else to do with Voldemort's "gifts" he gently places the box among the flames and whispers an ancient wizarding prayer for the safe passage of the soul to the afterlife. He should not be giving up so quickly, but there is only so much he can do against Voldemort and they need time to regroup before he mounts a rescue party.
When the box and its contents have been reduced to ash he returns to his desk and resumes reading his mail.
- & -
He has been anxious and on edge since the night of the failed raid, but hides his emotions under kind smiles and offers of lemon drops. On the outside he appears calm and collected despite everything that has happened. Only at night in the privacy of his quarters does he let his grief and guilt to the surface, staring morosely into space, the same questions running through his mind.
Why did he choose Harry? How could he have condemned Severus to certain torture and death? What did he do wrong and how could he fix it?
He sighs, knowing he only did what duty demanded he do. He had the future of the wizarding world to consider and countless of innocent lives depended on his decision. Harry Potter was essential to the future of their world, according to the prophecy, and when looked at subjectively, the choice should have been easy to make.
If the choice was suppose to be easy, then why does it feel like his heart is slowly breaking apart?
One of the only things that help him relax is the soothing sound of phoenix song from Fawkes. The loyal phoenix knows something is terribly wrong with his wizard and does what he can to help. He even offers one of his tears, but is refused by a sad smile.
"No my friend, I'm afraid your tears won't heal this wound."
Fawkes is not the only one worried about the venerable Headmaster. There are others who are concerned about him and the number is growing quickly.
Molly Weasley stops him after a meeting at Grimmauld Place and places a hand on his arm, concerned eyes boring into his.
"Is something wrong Albus?"
He smiles slightly and attempts to shrug off her concerns, but Molly raises an eyebrow and does not back down.
"You have not been yourself since the raid. Does this have to do with Severus?"
'Ah, leave it to Molly to get right to the point.' he thinks. Keeping his benign smile he replies,
"I don't know what you mean Molly. Have any of us been the same since that night?"
The Weasley matriarch crosses her arms and says,
"Harry told us what happened at the end of that raid Albus. Now I know you're keeping all that locked inside and it won't do anyone a bit of good if your guilt destroys you. Has there been any word on Severus?"
Hesitating, he debates what to tell the ever-perceptive Mrs. Weasley. She already knows his shameful secret and has the sense to keep it to herself. But he knows if he opens his heart to her, he will not be able to close it again and he is not prepared to deal with that kind of misery right now, perhaps not ever.
"No, there has been no information on Severus as of yet. I am sure we will hear something soon. If you will excuse me Molly I must speak with Kingsley."
He gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile and moves on to talk with Shacklebolt before she can get another word out.
When he returns to Hogwarts that night another package is waiting for him on his desk.
This time it is quite larger than the others and there is a note attached. He unfolds the white parchment and reads,
No traitor shall wear the Dark Mark
The note flutters to the floor forgotten as he rips into the box to see what is inside.
The black Mark stares back at him from a severed forearm. Potion-stained fingers lie limply on the tissue paper and the sallow skin is still spotted with blood. There is even blood crusted underneath the broken fingernails, giving testament to repeated exposure to the cruciatus.
He barely makes it to the loo in time to empty the contents of his stomach.
- & -
A month passes, then two.
Life seems to go on as normal, as normal as life can get in the midst of a war anyway.
Voldemort is unusually quiet, barely making any trouble save for the occasional attack on a muggle family. The "gifts" however keep coming, one every few weeks or so. A bloodied whip one week, a wand snapped in half the next, a pouch filled with finger and toe nails the week after that. He burns them all in a private mourning ritual he has performed after receiving the hated packages.
Dumbledore fears this is just the calm before the storm and urges Remus to push Harry even harder in his special training sessions, to prepare him for the final battle.
He will not let his choice be in vain and wants Harry to be as ready as he can be when he faces Voldemort in the duel that will ultimately decide the fate of their world.
Fudge is finally ousted with a no-confidence vote and Amelia Bones becomes the next Minister of Magic. Most of his time now is split between running the school and advising the new Minister as she attempts to bring order and justice to their world. He throws himself fully into the war effort, running Hogwarts and the Order with a single-minded determination that surprises his closest friends and advisors.
Minerva McGonagall is the first to suggest to him that he take a break, maybe a short vacation somewhere tropical. She assures him the school won't fall apart without him and things are quiet on the war front. He turns her down, knowing that he cannot afford to lose concentration now at this crucial point in time.
He pushes himself to work harder and longer, keeping his mind occupied so he will not have to worry about Voldemort or Severus or Harry or anything else but winning.
When Harry defeats Voldemort in a grand duel in front of the castle gates he does not know whether he should feel relieved or afraid.
- & -
It was over.
Many long years of suffering, loss and toil had finally come to an end.
He stands at a window in his private quarters, looking out over the school grounds – grounds that have been turned into an impromptu celebration field. Wizards, witches, house elves and creatures of all types have gathered to celebrate the downfall of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. It had been a fierce battle on the banks of the Hogwarts Lake, but the Order of the Phoenix had emerged victorious
The night sky is constantly lit with merry fireworks and on the Quidditch pitch he can just make out the jubilant Harry Potter, with Ron and Hermione at his side. They are the real heroes of the day and he is content to step back and let his children bask in the spotlight.
For tomorrow his work continues and he hopes to find the answers to the questions that have plagued him for months now.
He hopes to find his lost child.
- & -
Not all of the Death Eaters had perished in the final battle at Hogwarts. Some were merely stunned or incapacitated and taken prisoner afterwards.
One of these prisoners is Draco Malfoy.
Dumbledore stares up at Azkaban Fortress and his eyes narrow purposefully. No one gives a second look at him as he passes through the gates; he is Albus Dumbledore after all, leader of the effort to destroy You-Knew-Who and Headmaster of Hogwarts. No one will question him if he lingers a little too long in Malfoy's cell or pay any attention if the prisoner starts to scream.
He is led through the dark corridors and an Auror stops before a cell in the bowels of the prison, where the most heinous of criminals are kept. The wizard unlocks the wards with a wave of his wand and nods once to Dumbledore before heading back upstairs.
Dumbledore unsheathes his wand as he enters the rank cell, eyes immediately drawn to the figure crouched and chained in the corner. From the bruises it is clear the Aurors have not been kind to Draco, but he cannot bring himself to care. Malfoy lifts his head and snorts softly when he sees his new visitor.
"It's about time you showed up. Just kill me already."
He smiles coldly and lifts his wand.
"You're not going to die today Draco. Tell me where he is."
Draco's laugh soon turns into a rasping cough and he shakes his head.
"That's what you want to know? No seeking revenge or flaying me to pieces?"
"Tell me where he is." He repeats softly, steel underlying his voice.
"You mean where his body is don't you?"
His wand comes down fast and hard with a 'crucio' and he watches impassively as Malfoy twists and screams in his bonds. When he lifts the curse he asks again,
"Tell me where he is."
"Weren't you satisfied with the pieces we sent you?" Draco manages after a minute, spitting blood from his bitten lip onto the ground. More screams echo in the cold cell until he stops the curse and leans over the still whimpering Draco.
"I have all day and no one will come to save you Mr. Malfoy, so tell me the truth and perhaps I'll leave you to the tender mercies of the Aurors."
He is pleased to see a hint of fear in those pale eyes and waits patiently as Draco recovers enough to speak.
"I don't know. They never told me what happened to him."
"I think you are lying Mr. Malfoy. Care to rephrase your answer?"
Grey eyes widen in desperation and Draco twitches nervously.
"I swear I don't know. Please Headmaster!"
A part of him begins to question the morality of torturing a helpless prisoner, but that part is drowned out by the need to know what happened and ease some of his guilt. Did Draco ever stand like this, over his captive, wand ready and curse at the tip of his tongue? How many times did he cause Severus similar pain? Or stand by while others tortured his former Head of House?
"I must know Draco. Crucio!"
- & -
He visits ten more Death Eater prisoners and they all have the same answer – no one knows what their Lord did with the traitor at the end.
Draco finally confesses that he heard a rumour the traitor was last kept in the dungeons of Macnair's castle.
A search of the castle turns up nothing, not even bones.
Vincent Crabbe quickly admits he overheard Voldemort telling Pettigrew to dispose of the remains, but does not know if they were referring to the traitor or someone else.
Rabastan Lestrange is the hardest to crack, but eventually reveals that he thought the traitor was buried in the fields beyond Mulciber's estate in York.
Again, they find nothing.
For two whole weeks he continues his quest, questioning everyone who might know even the barest scrap of information and searching their homes and estates, looking for any clue of Severus's final resting place. He only takes time out of his search to attend the ceremonies and celebrations honouring the heroes and the dead of this awful war.
He had already lost hope of ever seeing Severus alive, but will not let him go without a traditional wizarding funeral. No wizard deserves to wander this physical earth as a ghost or a soul without a home. The afterlife is a mystical place, a place no one should be denied passage to. And maybe, just maybe, if he properly says goodbye then some of the near constant pain in his heart will stop.
Because his heart is breaking a little more each day and he does not how much longer he can take it.
- & -
Snow was falling gently outside his bedroom window, covering the school grounds in a pristine, white powder. It was Christmas Eve and everything was quiet, anticipating the joy and merriment the morning would bring.
He is still awake, watching the snow fall and preparing himself for what he is about to do.
'To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure,' he had once told Harry and now it is time to find out whether that adventure exists.
His affairs are in order, his mind is calm and he is ready to move on. He is tired, feeling the weight of his many years more heavily now than he ever had before. The world is at peace and the future is looking very bright. He has done his duty, kept his promises and it is time to receive his just reward for a job well done.
Fawkes trills softly and Dumbledore lifts a hand to stroke the ever-loyal phoenix. In the morning Fawkes will deliver his will and last letters to his friends and loved ones. He knows it is awfully selfish and cruel of him to force the others to deal with his passing away on Christmas, but he can delay no longer.
"It is time. Do you remember what I have asked of you?"
The phoenix nods his slender head and chirps mournfully as a silver tear falls to the floor – a tear of sorrow, not of healing this time. He stares at the damp spot on the rug and reaches into an inner pocket of his robes, pulling out a small blue vial. It is the last memento he has of Severus, a potion he selected from his vast private stores before the new potions professor took over. The vial contains a poison – a fast acting, painless poison that will allow him to slip into a deep sleep and never wake up.
"Thank you my old friend. Watch over them for me."
Fawkes bows gracefully then disappears in a burst of flame. He resumes watching the snow for a while and moves to his bed, settling himself comfortably on the pillows. Rolling the vial in his hand, Dumbledore closes his eyes and lets his mind drift among the magical currents that hold the physical world together. He relaxes even further and could almost touch the awesome magical power that composed the spiritual realm; a place where freed souls wandered in bliss for all eternity.
While he could sense the lure of the afterlife, he could not yet reach it – not without a little help.
Without any hesitation or last regrets, he uncorks the vial and downs the potion in one gulp. Pleasant warmth begins tingling throughout his body, making his limbs feel heavy and his heartbeat slow. The guilt and anguish that have plagued him for many months is suddenly lifted from his heart and his last breath is expelled in a soft, content sigh.
His soul is enveloped in magic and he hopes he will find the one person he so dearly wants to find, to apologize to, to embrace and never let go. Will his search for Severus finally be over? He waits and is welcomed by a sorely missed smirk.
He smiles as he finds his answer.
The End
(Hands out kleenex) Thank you for reading and please leave a review letting me know what you thought of this morbid little fic of mine. :)