This is for Otto 'King Otto II:' Rehagel and the Greek national team: 1:0 versus Portugal in the final so far. Wheeeeeeeeee!
Everything was oddly vague in front of his eyes. Everything he saw was clouded by a dark red haze of pain. He had found that he couldn't breathe inside of the Great Hall and thus had left abruptly to catch some air. Still, even outside in the frosty December air, breathing was by no means easier. Every intake hurt and every exhalation did nothing to ease the stuffed up feeling. His lungs hurt, his stomach hurt, his arms hurt, his heart hurt. He had read about this condition that the muggles called a 'heart attack'. Actually, his own father had died of one. Therefore, he had kept himself in top shape to prevent it for himself. But now, was he experiencing one? Or was this less a physical condition, and more of an outcry of his tortured soul?
She couldn't be dead. She could not. No, she must not be dead.
How could he live without her?
Albus Dumbledore found no answer to this soul-searching question, as he sank heavily onto a stone bench by the lake. It seemed like one of those cruel jokes that life had in store for everyone. Minerva was dead. His Minerva – strong, vibrant Minerva – dead.
Albus fingered under his robes and found a small marble statue dangling over his heart. Staring at the small white statue, with its golden-blue painted gown and blue eyes, he felt another pang of pain. Minerva had left this for him some nights ago, as a reminder of the strength of their love. Oddly enough, Albus had actually expected the statue to change, now that her original owner was dead. He always had suspected that the small charms they had exchanged, held their own kind of magic. Obviously, he was mistaken. And that thought was almost as painful as hearing himself called the murderer of his beloved.
With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore got up from the bench. He couldn't sit here. He couldn't keep calm. He had to move. To run. To fight. Anything to ease that tight feeling of hurt consuming his insides.
The big clock on the west tower chiming the lunch hour brought him out of his dark musings. Melina would return to lunch, Albus was sure of that. Maybe he could question her. Maybe even get her to take him with her. He had to go to Minerva. He just had to.
Stepping into the Great Hall, he was once again taken aback by the coldness filling the vast chamber. The students were silently eating their lunch. Only occasionally one raised his head or even opened his mouth to speak. The staff table was equally quiet. Nobody cried anymore, and surprisingly, nobody looked at him with hateful eyes, but still, it was uncomfortable to approach the table.
Even more dreadful though, was the fact that he had to seat himself next to Voldemort. But as the guest of honor, he had to sit there. He felt anger rise inside. How could this man sit there so smugly, when Minerva was dead? How could Albus make small talk, when all he wanted to do was scream?
What happened next, he had no memory of. Vaguely, he remembered Melina's return, even managed to recall her shouting for her eagle. Melisande; how often Minerva had chuckled about that choice of a name. Everything else, however, was a blur. And then only darkness.
Now, he slowly came back to himself. He found himself in a strange room. Normally, there were not many things to frighten him, but waking up in a dark, strange room sent tremors through him. The curtains were not drawn, thus it must already be after dusk. Only two torches alighted the vast chamber, and he felt nervous at the notion of having no memory of at least half a day.
Appraising his surroundings, he realized that whoever had brought him here meant no immediate harm. He was lying on a bed, without his outer robes and boots, but covered by a warm and soft comforter. Apparently, his captor had seen to it that he was comfortable.
The bed itself was a huge four poster construction of rich mahogany, fitting with the rest of the furniture. Closets, chairs, tables and the frame of the fireplace were made of the same expensive wood. All textile coverings in the room were made of a dark green silk, threaded with gold. Even the wall coverings were of the same silk. Not even counting the heavy chandelier or the candelabras, the chamber proved the wealth of its owner.
After putting on his boots, that were standing next to the bed, he started to walk around in the chamber, not bothering to light any more candles. The two torches and the merrily crackling fire in the hearth shed enough light for him. Despite this, his insides felt so dark that he had no drive to set it off by artificial light in his surroundings.
How could she be dead? How could she? Had they not promised each other not to get themselves killed in this war? In retrospect, he had to chuckle. It was a somewhat futile promise to make, when one was in a war and on the frontline of it. Still, Minerva had demanded this assurance and he had given it willingly, just as much to quell her fears as his own. After the stunner attack last summer, he knew how precious life in general was and how easy it was to lose. And he had given his promise and taken hers, with an embrace, a kiss and a night of passion as intense as they had ever had before.
At dawn, Minerva had drowsily kissed him, still trying to catch her breath and whispered: "Just like fine wine. Just like fine wine."
He had not argued that statement, feeling much the same. They had fallen asleep in each other's arms. Completely exhausted, yet sated and profoundly content.
And now, she was dead. And it was his fault. How could he live with that knowledge? How could he live without ever again seeing this wonderful heart-warming smile that was reserved for him alone? How could he go on without the assurance of Minerva's presence just behind him? And her oh so tender embraces. And those intoxicating kisses they shared. He knew nobody would believe it, but Minerva was such a sensual woman behind that mask of strictness. She was the light of his existence. And now, she was dead.
Suddenly, the vast room felt much too constricting for his impression. He had to get out of it and find out where he was as well. After all, even though his life had ended with Minerva's, it wouldn't do any good to actually leave without a fight.
He opened the door of the chamber carefully and peered out. The hallway to which it opened was just as elegantly furnished as the chamber where he had awakened, and was just as dimly lit.
However, only a few steps out, he started to recognise his surroundings. The corridor was strangely familiar. The paintings, several of them Muggle ones, he had seen before. Walking a few more steps, he could suddenly hear voices. Angry voices. Familiar voices…
"Of all the ridiculous things to do, whatever possessed you to bring HIM here?" A cold female voice demanded. He recognised this voice, had always thought it strangely fitting for the woman's character. Despite her outward beauty she had always lacked the warmth her sisters so obviously had.
"Diana, it was necessary…" Another, also familiar voice replied with a sigh.
"Necessary, my eye. This man's been trouble since we let him in too closely. And see where it got us. Two dead and another on the run."
"At least those dead were willing to fight and didn't run off and hide on another continent." A man's voice cut in.
"I did not hide!" Diana screeched back in indignation. "I did what I had to do. Unlike others, who just couldn't wait to open up trouble by jumping into bed with this guy."
A tense silence followed. In the corridor, the wizard held his breath, waiting for the eruption that such words would certainly cause. And suddenly, there was a reply. A reply, he never had expected. A reply that was calmly given in a voice that made his knees go weak and his hands grope for the wall for support. A voice he thought he'd never hear, ever again. A voice from the grave.
"This is quite enough, Diana. You too, Uray." The man outside leaned heavily against the wall. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Had he gone insane? But there was that voice again. "I asked Meli to bring him here. And I take the responsibility for it."
"I will not argue with you on that, Min." Diana niggled back.
"Don't 'Min' me, Sym!"
"Diana, stop it. Minerva is right. This is not the time for any petty bickering. We have more pressing matters at hand." Another deep male voice interrupted the ensuing argument. The man outside swallowed nervously. Dion was also here? The man – Dion – continued. "But Sym's question has merit. Why did you have Meli bring Dumbledore here, Min? It's not like we can trust him anymore."
Instead of Minerva, her niece answered. "At the very least, we had to prevent him from teaming up with He-With-The-Ridiculous-Name…"
"Call him Voldemort, Meli. It saves time." A third male voice cut in, and Dumbledore felt his uneasiness growing even stronger. If this one was here, his twin wasn't far. Trouble was already screaming into his face.
The amusement was obvious in the young witch's voice. "If you say so, Uncle Hermes. Teaming up was one thing. The other is that if worse comes to worst, 'Voldemort' could use him as ransom."
Just as expected, a fourth male voice spoke up. "You think that Dumbledore has not really changed sides?"
Outside, the old wizard was still like a stone. He had changed sides? Whatever had brought Minerva's siblings to the conclusion that he had switched over to Voldemort's side? He had not. He never…
Or had he? Suddenly, he felt as if he had been hit by two bludgers at the same time. Was that the answer to this riddle? The hateful glances? Minerva's prolonged absence from his daily life? Her supposed suicide?
Was that it? Did people really believe he had abandoned his fight for the light side? And joined the dark? Merlin, why did that happen? How?
All he remembered was that Fudge was dead and there was nobody to replace him. So finally, he had taken up this duty.
But, come to think of it, how had Fudge died? And when? And who had made Voldemort headmaster in Hogwarts? Had that been himself? Had he really opened the door to the stronghold of goodness for the epitome of evil? Had he really?
He could not believe it. Why would he do such a thing? And how?
Of course, he was by no means a young man anymore and many of his quirks and habits certainly qualified him as the 'senile old fool' the Daily Prophet liked to call him, but this went a little too far. But why had he done those things? And why were his recent memories full of gaping dark holes?
Inside the room, suddenly everything was silent and then with a tremor in her voice, Diana said: "He's awake."
The old wizard in the corridor tensed. Certainly, it would do no good to be caught outside eavesdropping. Frantically, he looked around and in the blink of an eye hurried back to the room he had awakened in.
Just as he was pressing the handle of the door, a voice behind him asked: "What specific place are you heading to?"
Comments:
Liz O'Brien: I think, this chapter kinda explained why Meli kidnapped Dumbles.
Punurple: Punpun, you don't die, waiting for my update. But, of course, I won't risk any guilt, so here it is. And I just luuuurve my cliffies. Heheee
Sonja(): Thanks for your compliments. Never to worry, I'm a die-hard AD/MMer.
Catwoman99: Really, shame on you. It took you only 30 chapters. Really now…
tArA JaZeL: Thank you so much...
Child-of-the-Dawn: Slap Dumbles? Maybe… Prolly, not the best thing for Dumbles to be in that house….'grin' And yes…Melina has learned from the best, after all.
HogwartsDuo: Oh thank you. I hope, I'm living up to my reputation with this one as well. A happy ending? We'll see.
TartanPhoenix: Mucho thankos.
Evilwoman: Hmmm…what do you think now?
Jestana: Yeah, go Melina! Go, Severus! … And now, onto the next thing…heheee