Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Shadows flickered across the walls, dancing eerily onward as their owner's moved ahead. The torches set in heavy metal brackets across the wall were extinguished one by one as the two silent figures walked along the way. The only sound made was the faint 'tap' of their echoing footsteps as they slowly progressed through the chamber.
They stopped momentarily, the taller of the two withdrawing a long, wooden wand from the inside of his robes. Muttering softly to himself, he tapped the wall in front of them, stepping back quickly when it sprang to life. The bricks cracked and groaned, folding into themselves to reaveal another small chamber, completely encased in darkness.
"Go, Draco," the taller said, clutching the smaller figure's shoulder and forcibly steering him through the doorway.
The younger one, Draco, took a few tentative steps forward, his hands trembling violently. Stuffing them in the sleeves of his robes, he took a few more steps, fumbling around in the darkness for secure footing.
"Come, Draco. Kneel before your master," a voice hissed coldly. Draco's spine went rigid, and he felt as if all the warmth had been sufficently sucked from the room. Blinking against the harsh glare of bright light that erupted from the other side of the room, he swallowed hard. Stepping forward, he dropped to his knees, his forehead nearly touching the ground. He waited silently for his master to speak again.
"Severus has informed me of your triumph over Dumbledore," the voice continued, no more than a sinister whisper. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep his teeth from chattering as another wave of cold swept through the room. The light near his master flickered briefly, but then strengthened, returning some of the stolen warmth.
"Yes, my Lord," Draco whispered hoarsely, feeling a cold shiver crawl up his spine. He heard footsteps, but he didn't dare look up without permission. He felt the sweep of fabric near his head, and he realized with a start that his master was standing above him. Opening his eyes, he stared silently at the ground, his breath coming in harsh pants.
"Look at me, boy." Draco raised his head slowly, eyes traveling upward to clash with the red, slitted ones of his master. "Do you think me a fool?" Draco felt the shiver race up his spine once again, and he mutely shook his head, fighting desperately to keep his breathing controlled.
"No, my Lord," he replied, his voice cracking. He saw a flicker of amusement pass over the haunting face of his Lord. And then he chuckled, the sound filled with sarcasm. Draco licked his lips, swallowing once more when his master reached into his robes. Withdrawing a wand, much like that of his former companions, he pointed it down at Draco.
"Give me your wand, Draco." Raising himself just a few inches, so as not to push his luck with his master, he reached a trembling hand into his own robes, withdrawing the wand stashed inside. Clutching it till his knuckles turned white, he offered it to his master, gasping softly when he saw the pleasant look on his Lord's face. He took Draco's wand, turned on his heel, and moved forward a few paces, bringing his own wand level with other.
The Dark Lord mumbled something softly to himself, and there was a flash of light that ricocheted from Draco's wand. It collided with the Lord's wand, sending it spiraling into the air, clattering to the floor some feet across the dimly lit chamber. Slowly, with a neutral expression on his face, Draco's master turned to face him.
"I do not tolerate disobedience, Draco. I'm fully aware that Severus holds the wand that defeated the great Dumbledore. Now, boy, come," the Dark Lord said softly, his voice a silky whisper as he beckoned Draco with a regal wave of his hand. Draco stumbled forward blindly, eyes still averted to the floor, every ounce in his being shaking in uncontrollable fear.
"Will you not beg for mercy?"
The Dark Lord's words reverbrated off the walls, entering Draco's ears for a second time. He felt a small inflation of defiance, but he quickly quelled it when his master raised Draco's own wand against.
"P-please, my Lord, have mercy for this undeserving servant," Draco whispered, the words sounding mechanical and forced even as he shook with fear. The Dark Lord released his breath sharply, and Draco took it to be some foreign sound of amusement.
"Is that the best you can do, boy?" Draco gritted his teeth. It was painfully obvious that the Lord was enjoying himself immensely, and he fought hard to keep his fury bridled. He was a Malfoy, and none, not even the Dark Lord, had the standing to talk to him as such!
"I beg of you, my Lord, have mercy," he whispered once again, afraid that if he raised his voice anymore, it would bely his inner turmoil. "Have mercy," he repeated, crawling forward to clutch a fistful of his master's robes. He lowered his lips to them briefly, feeling a rolling wave of disgust wash through him. Is this what his father had done on so many occasions? Groveled like some common house Elf?
"Foolish, foolish boy. Crucio!" Draco felt his limbs bend inwards, and then flexing out in all different directions, sendingjolts of pain throughout his entire body. He bit down hard on his lip to keep from crying out as anotherspasm of pain sent asearing heatthrough his body. He felt as if his bones were being torn from their sockets, limb by painful limb . . .
And then it stopped. He fell to the floor, ignoring the pathetic feeling in the pit of his stomach. Running his tongue over his dried lips, he sampled the irony taste of his own blood. Groaning softly, he closed his eyes, feeling a sudden spell of fatigue.
"To your knees, Draco." Complying with his Lord's wishes, he raised himself up, albeit with much effort, ignoring the impulse to spit at his master's feet. "I will not tolerate your impertinece again, boy. Now go. And remember, Draco," he tossed over his shoulder, the dim light in front of him slowly starting to disappate, "Those who please their Lord are justly rewarded. However, those who fail receive the same." He tossed Draco's wand at his feet.
And then the red, glowing eyes were upon him, and Draco resisted the urge to cringe at the sight. He bowed his head, fully understanding the unspoken warning. With that, he slipped out of the chamber, not daring to look back.
Harry Potter stared blankly at the placid lake, his eyes glazed and distant behind wire rimmed glasses. He was sweating profusely, the underarms of his uniform damp with perspiration, and the sleeves of his robes stuck to his arm. He made no move to leave his spot to find shade, though. He had been standing there for quite some time, apparently lost in thought.
How many people would die because of him? How many would perish because they had the bravery to resist? When would it all end? In the distance he could see Albus Dumbledore's tomb, the sheer whiteness of it glittering brightly in the afternoon sun. He felt a sudden wrenching in his stomach, and he closed his eyes, looking away.
Sighing to himself, he turned on the spot, starting a low, leisurely pace toward the entrance to Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dumbledore's last will would be read soon and, although he still had plenty of time, he wanted to be there first.
Making his way through the familiar winding paths, he kept silent, ignoring the variety of looks he was receiving from other students. School would let out the day after the reading of the will, much to Harry's releif. He had no qualms about leaving so early; he was loathe to stay even as long as today.
". . .think Albus left Potter?"
Harry froze, his heartbeak rapidly speeding up as he flattened himself against the wall behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. The voice, the familiar squeak of Professor Flitwick, was coming closer, and he drewa breath in, peeking under the statue's arm as far as he dared.
"I've no idea, to be honest, Filius. Knowing Albus, something not preferrably of the normal." The second voice belonged to Minerva McGonagall, whom Harry could see now looming over Flitwick. There was a pause before they spoke again, their voices hushed and hollow.
"Poor boy. Albus was very fond of him. Quite understandably, I believe all of us were. 'Tis a shame Albus will not return. He will be sorely missed," Flitwick said, a tone of wistfullness in his voice. There was a sound of agreement from McGonagall before they disappeared around a corner.
Harry let his breath out slowly, sliding out from behind the statue quickly. Dumbledore had left him something in his will? He frowned at the spot where Flitwick and McGonagall had been, unsure as to what Albus Dumbledore would possibly have left him. Maybe something to do with the Horcruxes?
"Harry!"
He turned, silently observing the approaching form of Neville Longbottom. The boy stopped in front of him, bending slightly as he panted and gasped for breath. "Harry, I was just sent by McGonagall," Neville said quickly, taking a gulp of air. "Said she wanted to see you in her office," Neville finished, looking up at Harry.
"Thanks, Neville," Harry said distantly, nodding his thanks before turning back in the direction Flitwick and McGonagall had gone. He had a guess as to what McGonagall was going to tell him, but he didn't voice it as he stopped to knock on her door. She gave him entrance, and he opened the door, turning to stare curiously at her.
He hadn't been able to get a proper look at her when she was passing, and what he saw now caused him a slight bit of unease. Her hair was unkempt and wild, strands falling into her face from the severe bun holding it back. Her hat was on her dask, wrinkled and damp with sweat, and her robes were rumpled and wrinkly, as if she had slept in them.
"Close the door, Potter," she said, hands folded in her lap as she stared at the witch's hat in front of her. Harry closed the door softly, frowning as he did so. "Take a seat." She inclined her head to the chair in front of her desk, and he approached it cautiously, the slight unease turning into fear as he noticed the troubled look on her face.
"Professor, what's wrong?" he asked hesitantly, gripping the arms of the chair very tightly when her lips thinned drastically.
"Potter, I am afraid I have bad news," McGonagall said quietly, lifting her eyes to meet his own. She stared at him for a moment, causing Harry's chest to tighten considerably. "You are aware of the work Remus Lupin has been conducting?" she asked solemnly. Harry looked up sharply, straining a muscle in his neck.
"What happened to Lupin?" he demanded, standing up and letting the chair fall back. He ignored thedisapproving look she gave himas he clenched his teeth. Lupin had said he'd been working with the werewolves, to try and persuade them to come to the good side.
"He was . . . attacked," McGonagall said evenly, faltering slightly as she fumbled around for an accurate word. Before she had the chance to say anything else, Harry's voice interrupted her.
"Is he . . ." Harry trailed off, closing his eyes as he looked away, taking a deep breath. He couldn't bring himself to say it, as likely as it was. Werewolves were viscious creatures by nature, and they would kill even their best mate during the night of a full moon.
"No, and I would appreciate it, Mr. Potter, if you did not destroy my furniture," McGonagall replied, watching as Harry's expression crumpled into one of relief. He picked the chair back up, giving her a sheepish look as he seated himself once again. "He is, however, severly injured. He is currently at St. Mungo's, recovering under the care of trained professionals," she said, rearranging her hands.
Harry remained silent for some time, a gaurded expression on his face. When it became apparent that McGonagall was no longer going to say anything, he stood up. "Will that be all, Professor," he asked, hand on the back of the chair.
"No, Potter. There is also another matter we must discuss. It includes Professor Dumbledore's will," McGonagall said briskly, a strange wetness coming into her eyes as she shuffled around some papers on her desk. Harry looked guiltily at the floor, scuffing the toe of his shoe along the tile.
"I already know, Professor," he said quietly, ignoring the look of exasperation she gave him. "I heard you and Professor Flitwick when you were walking by," he added meekly, swalloing audibly.
"Very well, then, Potter. You may leave. I suggest you hurry down to the Great Hall. The reading of the will begins shortly," she said, dismissing him with a nod of her head. Harry muttered a quiet thanks, making his way out the door and down the corridor. He needed to find Ron and Hermione, his best friends, to tell them about Lupin.
He stepped into the doorway of the Great Hall, and stopped in his tracks. Rows upon rows of students were seated at the four tables, Houses sitting together, even students from Slytherin mingling with the others, all wearing their school robes. Nota single person said anything as he stepped inside, giving the room at large a shocked look. This many students, even Slytherin, and those that had doubted his word of Voldemort's return, had showed up to pay their final respects to their Headmaster. He felt the sickening knot in his stomach once again, and he quickly made his way over to the farthest table, seating himself silently.
He sat quietly, studying the drawn faces of the students around them. Hardly anyone spoke, and even if they did, it was only to ask if a seat was taken, or if anyone knew when the will would start. In a far corner, though , he caught sight of Blaise Zabini, his head close to that of another Slytherin's. They threw Harry a scathing look, their eyes full of hate, before turning and continuing their hushed conversation. Harry felt a jolt of rage that they would disrespect Dumbledore, but he had no chance to object, for a short, squat wizard lumbered in the Hall, stopping at the door, his face a near replica of Harry's.
A few other lagging students came after him, Ron and Hermione included. "Oi, mate," Ron said miserably, slipping into the seat beside him. Hermione just gave his hand a small squeeze, smiling gently at him. It was then that Harry remembered what McGonagall had told him, and he leaned over, tapping Hermione on the shoulder. She looked up expectantly.
"Harry?" she asked quietly, frowning deeply when Harry took a deep breath.
"It's about Lupin," Harry said, noticing that Ron's head whipped around, his eyes wide and full of interest. "He's been attacked, and he's at St. Mungo's," Harry added, nodding grimly when Hermione gasped softly.
"Is he okay?" she asked, her voice full of concern. Harry nodded, glancing at Ron. His face had lost most of it's pallor, and his freckles looked likeapatch of red splotches on his face. He swallowed, his lips thinning.
"I'll explain later," Harry muttered, noticing that the wizard who had walked in was trying to get the attention of the students.
He started to say something, but his voice barely made it to those closest to him, and he whipped his wand out, pointing it at his throat and muttering "Sonorous" before clearing his throat. It echoed loudly through the silent room, and he smiled slightly at the students closest to him who winced, drawing their hands over their ears.
"Welcome," the wizard said, waddling forward toward the front of the Hall. He stopped when he was in front of the professors' table, turning to face them with a grim face as he conjured a podium with another flick of his wand. After muttering something else, arather large stack of papers appeared on the podium as well.
"Welcome," he repeated, "to the reading of theLast Will and Testimony of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. My name is Gregory Himlet, and I will be conducting all business affairs related to Mister Dumbledore's Last Will and Testimony . . ." Harry saw movement near the back of the Hall, and his eyes narrowed as a man with a silvery beard much like Dumbledore's leaned against the wall, his hands folded primly in front of him. Harry turned his attention back to the front.
". . .in his Last Will and Testimy, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore left all accounted for property," the squat wizard held up a slip of parchment with a stamp marked on it, "to Aberforth Dumbledore." There was a ringing silence in the room as the man looked around, his brows furrowing as he tapped his fingernails against the podium he had conjured for himself.
Harry's eyes widened when the wizard he had spotted entering late stood from the wall, striding mutely to the front of the room. He spoke a few quiet words with Himlet. Aberforth Dumbledore accepted the slips of parchment and turned briskly, ignoring the shocked look of some of the students. He stopped when he reached Harry.
"Harry Potter," Aberforth greeted, his voice gruff and unkind, very unlike Dumbledore's calm, even voice. Harry stared at him, unsure as to what the older wizard wanted. Without another word, Aberforth walked rigidly toward the entrance, folding the slips of parchment and tucking them into his robes as he left. Harry blinked a few times, moving his eyes back to Himlet, who was droning on about services Dumbledore wished to have done in his death. McGonagall, Flitwick, and almost every other teacher at Hogwart's recieved a few of Dumbledore's belongings, many of which Harry recognized from his office. Even Kingsley Shacklebot was present to receive a small letter and a mysterious looking box that was bolted shut.
Harryswallowed, once again hit with the overwhelming truth. Dumbledore's will clarified it vividly in his mind; no longer would twinkling blue eyes look at him kindly, no longer would words of wisdom be offered to him for the taking, no longer would he have the safety and security of knowing that there was a man out there that the greatest Dark wizard of all times feared. Dumbledore was gone. He was never coming back.
Feeling a sting in his eyes, Harry blinked several times, glad that Hermione and Ron had their attention on the squat wizard. Ron had his hands fisted tightly, squinting at Himlet, almost as if he couldn't see. Hermione was staring at him, transfixed, as if absorbing every word. It was then that Himlet stopped, his eyes coming to rest on Harry.
"In his Last Will and Testimony, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore has left this. . ." There was a collective draw of breath around the room as Himlet withdrew a small envelope from the pile on his podium. "To a Mr. Harry James Potter. It is to be opened and read by none but Mr. Potter himself," the wizard added, beckoning to Harry. He stood reluctantly, aware of Blaise Zabini's sneer as he took the envelope silently from Himlet.
Ignoring Hermione's curious look, he stuffed the envelope in the insides of his robes, turning his attention back to the reading.
After another continuous hour, after which many students had nodded off, their hands holding their heads up, Himlet drew a deep breath, finally bowing his head. "Let us all, in unison, bow our heads in respect of one of the world's greatest wizards." Harry didn't think that such a sentance had been included in Dumbledore's will, and he felt his respect for Himlet rise a few notches as he obediently lowered his head.
There was complete silence throughout the room. Not even Zabini or his Slytherin friends dared to speak as they all revered the great being that was Dumbledore. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, his hand moving to clutch the envelope tightly. Himlet raised his head, clearing his throat once again. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and scratchy, as if he were on the verge of tears.
"The reading of the Last Will and Testimony of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore has henceforth concluded. You may take your leave," he finished, grabbing a fistful of robes and dabbing at his eyes. Harry remained where he was, waiting for the rest of the students to file out. Hermione gave him a concerned look, but he ignored it, his hand still firmly holding Dumbledore's envelope.
"Harry," Hermione said quietly, putting her hand on his arm. "Are you all right?" He nodded jerkily, standing up quickly when Ron opened his mouth to speak.
"I'm . . . going for a walk," he said abruptly, nearly sprinting out of the Hall. He kept a hurried pace, shoving past students and teachers alike as he made his way out of the school. Walking quickly down past the Herbology greenhouses, he stopped when he reached the charred remains of Hagrid's hut.
Blinking several times to avoid the wetness in his eyes, he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. When it seemed to no avail, he clutched the envelope tighter, bringing it out of his robes to study it. Just a simple envelope with his name, 'Harry', written on the front. He reached down, his hands trembling, as he slit the top with his finger.
There were two pieces of parchment inside, each filled with Dumbledore's loopy, slanted handwriting. Harry felt his chest tighten once again, and he felt the parchment crumple slightly as he gripped it tightly in his hands.
Harry,
If you are reading this, then I am, in simple words, no longer there. How my death may have occured is of no consequence of what I am going to tell you. And I tell you this, Harry:
Do not spend the entirety of your time hunting down whomever has managed to best me. To devote yourself to such a thing will only lead to your demise. I am asking of you, Harry, on behalf of yourself and I, do not do this.
As it is impossible to determine the time of my own fall, I have no idea whether the information I am going to present to you can be useful or not. But, as I have written this letter upon our last meeting in my office, it is likely.
Contact my brother, Aberforth. He will present to you, should you show him the second parchment, hopefully, what I believe to be a Horcrux. Now, you may question as to why you are just now finding out about this yourself, but, do remember, the time I have written this. Please, Harry, do not read the second piece of parchment. I am trusting you with such vital information, and I expect as much trust in return to simply give him the letter.
You would ask me, Harry, how I know Aberforth has the Horcrux, do you not? You remember the troubling news you brought me of Mundungus Fletcher and his theivery of the items of Grimmauld Place? Such news gave me the lead on which to find this information. Aberforth will explain all proceeding from there.
Alas, Harry, now that I am finished with my pleas, I give you my last lesson as a professor. It is this:
Live. Perhaps my death has taught you that forever is not a possibility. You have been deprived the normalcy of a childhood, and it is likely that your fame, albeit unwanted, will deprive you of many other things, but do not let that stop you from simply living. We humans take so much for granted.
While this may seem like the ramblings of a senile old man, Harry, do heed what I say. There is nothing better than the joy of living and loving, and being loved in return. Do not let the Prophecy deprive you of life.
As I could, no doubt, go on forever with this letter, I will end it here. I leave you with these words, Harry Potter. I was very fond of you, and it is perhaps one of my biggest regrets that I can not be there to watch you grow, as I should have been. Stick with your friends, Harry, and keep to your morals. Do not let another run the only life you have to live.
Sincerely, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Harry choked on his breath, realizing he was sobbing uncontrollably, the tears dropping to the parchment held in his shaking hands. He folded the parchment, along with the other for Aberforth, up neatly, placing it back in the envelope.
He didn't know how long he stayed out there, his gaze fixed on the Forbidden Forest looming ahead, tears streaming down his face. Darkness had already fallen, and the stars were shining brightly by the time he made his way back up to the castle. Ron and Hermione would be worried to death, and he was amazed that they had not come looking for him.
As Harry climbed the many steps to spend his final night in Gryffindor tower, he inwardly wondered whether he would be able to find all the Horcruxes and destroy Voldemort for good. He would have to learn many things, of that he was sure. And whether he even lived or not . . .
As he passed a painting of two young people sitting on a hill, the sun rising slowly, he remembered a conversation he had had with Dumbledore.
"You are protected, in short, by your ability to love!"
"In spite of all the temptation you have endured, all the suffering, you remain pure of heart, just as pure as you were at the age of eleven, when ou stared into a mirror that reflected your heart's desire, and it showed you only the way to thwart Lord Voldemort, and not immortality or riches."
"Voldemort should have known then what he was dealing with, but he did not!"
Harry only hoped that what Dumbledore had said was true.
Lol! I love using Dumbledore's full name, hence the title of the chapter. I just absolutely love it for some reason. I guess just a random thing!