Disclaimer: I do not own HP. I do own Kahl, Magick of Warfare, other various parts of this story, and the lint in my pocket. If anyone wants the lint, though, I'm willing to sell it.
And no, I'm not sure I came up with that joke on my own. I know there was some inspiration there.
Author's Note: I know this is extremely short, but enjoy anyway.
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Chapter 8
Haunting Sorrow
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Dumbledore watched Kahl Rabrek enter his study. The girl's face was expressionless, but her eyes were shadowed. He motioned to the chair, and she sank into it. Dumbledore kept a frown from rising to his face. "How are you doing?" he asked.
The jade eyes turned to him. "I'm alive."
"You always say that."
"It's always the truth." When Dumbledore didn't respond, Kahl looked up at the ceiling. "If I come in sometime as a ghost, I'll be sure to let you know."
Dumbledore looked at her narrowly. Kahl had not made jokes for the last two years of her mission, and when she did, they had never been sarcastic like this. "If there's anything you want to talk about, you can."
"I don't need to talk." She turned back to him. "You want my report."
He nodded.
"Draco Malfoy has become a Deatheater. He killed a Muggle. I . . ." Kahl's voice trailed off, and her eyebrows knitted.
"Oh, Kahl, I'm sorry. It's not your fault."
Kahl looked away.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
Kahl nodded after a moment, and she related the Deatheaters' meeting and her own actions, though with frequent pauses. When she was done, she sighed deeply.
Dumbledore pursed his lips. She was only eighteen. After all his experience, especially with Harry, did he really think a child could do something like this? "Thank you. I know how difficult it can be to talk about such things."
She watched Fawkes steadily.
He sighed. "Is there anything else you have to tell me?"
"No, sir."
"Your cover is still safe?"
"I believe so, sir. They have betrayed no suspicion."
"Yes." He frowned into his beard. 'Of course not....' He waved a hand, and a tea set appeared. The comforting smell of peppermint drifted from a bowl of crushed leaves. "Would you like something before you go?"
Kahl's eyes flickered towards him. "Thank you, sir, but I must return."
"Of course. You may go." He stood as Kahl did. "There is just one thing I want you to remember. You couldn't do anything to save that man's life without risking your mission. It grieves me that he died, and if I could do—could have done—anything to change it, I would have. But your mission may help save the world. You could not risk your exposure. It is not your fault. I want you to remember that."
She smiled bitterly. "It never is, is it, sir?" Before he could respond, her smile vanished, and she sighed. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that to you." She bowed. "Good day, sir." Then she was gone.
And no, I'm not sure I came up with that joke on my own. I know there was some inspiration there.
Author's Note: I know this is extremely short, but enjoy anyway.
-----
Chapter 8
Haunting Sorrow
-----
Dumbledore watched Kahl Rabrek enter his study. The girl's face was expressionless, but her eyes were shadowed. He motioned to the chair, and she sank into it. Dumbledore kept a frown from rising to his face. "How are you doing?" he asked.
The jade eyes turned to him. "I'm alive."
"You always say that."
"It's always the truth." When Dumbledore didn't respond, Kahl looked up at the ceiling. "If I come in sometime as a ghost, I'll be sure to let you know."
Dumbledore looked at her narrowly. Kahl had not made jokes for the last two years of her mission, and when she did, they had never been sarcastic like this. "If there's anything you want to talk about, you can."
"I don't need to talk." She turned back to him. "You want my report."
He nodded.
"Draco Malfoy has become a Deatheater. He killed a Muggle. I . . ." Kahl's voice trailed off, and her eyebrows knitted.
"Oh, Kahl, I'm sorry. It's not your fault."
Kahl looked away.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
Kahl nodded after a moment, and she related the Deatheaters' meeting and her own actions, though with frequent pauses. When she was done, she sighed deeply.
Dumbledore pursed his lips. She was only eighteen. After all his experience, especially with Harry, did he really think a child could do something like this? "Thank you. I know how difficult it can be to talk about such things."
She watched Fawkes steadily.
He sighed. "Is there anything else you have to tell me?"
"No, sir."
"Your cover is still safe?"
"I believe so, sir. They have betrayed no suspicion."
"Yes." He frowned into his beard. 'Of course not....' He waved a hand, and a tea set appeared. The comforting smell of peppermint drifted from a bowl of crushed leaves. "Would you like something before you go?"
Kahl's eyes flickered towards him. "Thank you, sir, but I must return."
"Of course. You may go." He stood as Kahl did. "There is just one thing I want you to remember. You couldn't do anything to save that man's life without risking your mission. It grieves me that he died, and if I could do—could have done—anything to change it, I would have. But your mission may help save the world. You could not risk your exposure. It is not your fault. I want you to remember that."
She smiled bitterly. "It never is, is it, sir?" Before he could respond, her smile vanished, and she sighed. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that to you." She bowed. "Good day, sir." Then she was gone.