Twenty years later...
The beating of the drums sounded, the wailing of voices began. Night, and the sky had darkened. Night, and the moon had risen, looming large and close to earth. It shimmered in the heat of the ritual bonfire, the tribal chief signaling for her to begin the mourning dance. She moved in time with the drums, her hair wild as the wind as a breeze picked up and claimed her heart for the night. Overcome, she danced, twisting, twirling, throwing out her longing and grief over her long-dead parents. Spices, incense, all intoxicated her as she danced her grief. Around and around the fire of her people, she lost herself, remembering all over again the loss of her father, his mangled body, her distraught mother, the hideous sight of her miscarried brother...
She was lost in her grief all over again, crying out at the world, at the gods, at the monsters who took her family from her. The music grew as she danced and jumped around the fire, acrobatics from the ones who found her and took her because of her power. She didn't want to stop, as the music began to ebb, she didn't want to lose the outlet for her anger, her despair, her rage. Yet even as the music faded, she felt the emotion drain from her body, the exhaustion begin to seep in as the last beats of the drums and notes from the reed flutes died away. Wearily, she slumped on a fallen log, not noticing the rip in her sarong. Placing her head in her hands, she began to cry, to sob out her despair of the memories of a little girl.
Not for the first time, Albus Dumbledore felt all the years of his long life heaped upon her. Rubbing his brow in an uncommon state of weariness, he gladly welcomed the intrusion of a tapping at his window. Glancing up, he noticed, with surprise, not an owl at his window, but a golden eagle! And not of the local variety, either. Intrigued, the old man went to his window and allowed the exotic bird into his office.
"And where might you have come from?" inquired the old man, retrieving a set of treats for the bird to munch on.
Unruffled and seemingly grateful, the eagle bent its head in direction of the treats as Dumbledore took the scroll attached to its leg. Upon noting the feel of the parchment, he frowned a moment in contemplation before opening the letter. /Is it from Bharat? Surely it cannot be./ Shaking his head, he opened his missal, and nearly had a heart attack from its contents.
My dear Professor Dumbledore,
It is indeed I, Bharat, who is writing to you. I have found her! It nearly killed me to discover her whereabouts, but I have found her. She has been living with a tribe of primitives, near the base of the mountains, away from any semblance of civilization, and far enough to not attract attention to Apparate here. Please, if it is your wish to do so, please contact me through Kaija, so that I am able to inform my Ministry. She is alive, Professor, alive and well enough.
Sincerely, Ambharat Lampur
Shocked for the first time in a long time, Albus Dumbledore could only sit in his chair for a full five minutes before going to his fireplace. Grasping a handful of Floo powder, he tossed it into the fire, and shouted, "Minerva McGonagall!"
Within seconds, an irritated professor shoved her head into the fire, and looked questioningly at the Headmaster.
Still stunned, he could only muster, "My office, Minerva. There has been news."
Momentarily, his Deputy Headmistress had gained entrance to his office, and was looking quizzically at Dumbledore.
"Who has written, Albus? Has He made a move?"
"No, Minerva, this does not concern Tom," said the powerful wizard, standing at the window. He took a breath, "It concerns my granddaughter."
His Deputy gasped, "Katherine's child? Oh Albus, have they found her?"
"Yes," he answered, "Bharat found her."
"In India?"
"Yes, apparently, she has been taken in by a tribe, away from Muggle habitation. He suggests for me to Apparate there and seek out the only child of my child."
Minerva McGonagall had seen this man through his hours of battling Voldemort at his prime, had seen him condemn one of his students for the sake of another's memory. She remembered well his shock and grief at his realization how wrong he had been about Sirius, and what he had been condemned to, as well as the mistake he had made concerning Harry's Occlumency. She had never before seen him so utterly helpless.
He wanted to go to her, she knew. Yet he knew he couldn't leave the fight, the War now, regardless if she was family.
"Albus," she worded carefully, "Could another go in your place?"
He looked at her, sadness in his eyes, and he nodded slightly. He pursed his lips, and regarded her with searching eyes.
"Yes, Albus, I will go for you. I knew Katherine, and her daughter as well. Mayhap she'll remember me, from her younger years."
As she gathered her robes about her to leave, Albus turned his eyes once again to the sky, then strode to his desk, wrote a quick note on a piece of parchment, and tied it the bird's leg.
"Take this to your master, winged friend."
Looking at him one more time, Minerva felt once again the love for this man, as well as the awe at his power, and the depth of his love. For twenty years he had waited and watched for this moment, beneath the twinkle in his eyes and love for his school and pupils. She knew the depth of his grief for his long-dead daughter and son-in-law, and his sadness for his disappeared granddaughter. Mayhap, she thought, it would give more to his long and lonely life than to fight his nemesis, and take young Harry Potter under his wing. Realizing her privilege to know this infuriating man so well, Minerva silently promised to bring the girl back, whether she wanted to or not.