She took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door, hoping in spite of herself that the Headmaster wouldn't answer. However, just as she was turning away to descend the moving staircase, she heard, "Enter." Inhaling even more deeply, she screwed her eyes up and opened the door. It shouldn't be this hard, she thought, to do the little thing she had to do. After all, she didn't have to tell him a thing, not if she didn't want to.
"Good evening, Professor Snape," Dumbledore said jovially, "to what do I owe this honour?"
She tried in vain to smile back. "I need to speak to you, Professor. Could I – could I ask you to keep this private?"
Behind the twinkling blue eyes there was no hint of what Dumbledore was thinking. It was strange, she thought to herself, that a face so full of warmth and openness could hide so much. "By all means." He smiled again, and she felt distinctly unnerved. Not knowing whether he had already formed his opinion of her actions ,or whether he genuinely had no idea of what she was here to speak to him about was confusing to the point of anxiety."Take a seat."
She did as he said, and took more deep breaths. The quicker she got it over with, the less painful it would be.Without consciously deciding what she was planning to say, she blurted out, "I want to resign, Professor."
"Resign?" Dumbledore almost looked taken aback, but after a second his face was back to its usual expression of curious compassion. "You want to resign?"
"Yes, Professor," she said quietly. "Well actually, it's more a case of needing to resign."
"Oh?" The Headmaster didn't look compassionate any more; his expression was guarded, as if reserving judgement. "Well, I'm sure no one has found fault with your teaching these past years. In fact, many will be very sorry to see you leave us. Therefore, I must ask: why do you feel you need to resign?"
"Professor –" she stifled the tears which she could feel prickling behind her eyes, "I really don't want to have to tell you." He looked at her just as blankly, and she found herself continuing. "It's so stupid! I don't want to know what you'll think of me, I know I've let you down, but somehow, somehow I think –"
"You think I have a right to know?"
She nodded mutely, refusing to look at Dumbledore. Her eyes wandered across the walls, but she couldn't look there either; the faces of the ancient witches and wizards lining the office looked at her as inquisitively as she knew Dumbledore must now be doing. They, however,had none of his restraint. She saw them whispering behind their hands and giving her dark looks with narrowed eyes. Thus, she found herself looking back at the Headmaster.
"Can I suggest that it might be easier just to tell me what is wrong? I find that problems often become much easier to manage once one has set them free."
She knew that this problem couldn't just go away the way Dumbledore seemed to have a knack of vanishing other issues which arose at Hogwarts. She agreed with him, however, that maybe it would be best to just let it out. That way she would be able to say her piece and leave, not having to see the look on Dumbledore's face. Dumbledore: her protector; her mentor; the man who had given her this job when she hadn't known quite what to do with herself.
"I'm pregnant."
The silence rang as loudly as if the wind was howling through the office, and she felt the urge to clap her hands against her ears and sob. Her eyes stung and her throat ached, and there was a pit of fire in her stomach. Saying it, speaking out loud the words she knew were true; this made it real. There was no going back now, not even in her mind.
Dumbledore tentatively broke the silence. "Well…" He paused briefly, then continued as if determined to make the conversation seem as natural as possible. "In normal circumstances, I would offer you congratulations. However -" Ah yes, she thought, 'however' was such a horrible word. It sounded so innocent, but invariably led to something highly embarrassing or disappointing. "- there is obviously something out of the ordinary going on here."
She nodded briefly in agreement, and concentrated her gaze on a point several inches above Dumbledore's left ear. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but her throat was so dry that the only noise she made was a croaking kind of gasp. She felt so pathetic and guilty that her eyes stung again, but she blinked back her tears; she was not the one who deserved to cry. She was the one in the wrong, and she would damn well show that she knew it; there'd be no feeling sorry for herself.
"Just tell me," said Dumbledore gently, "was it a student or a teacher?"
"A student," she said, so quietly that the Headmaster obviously had difficulty hearing her response.
"Ah," he sighed, "that makes things so much more complicated."
"Tell me about it," she said without thinking. To her surprise, Dumbledore gave a small chuckle, and she found herself grinning back rather sheepishly.
"You see," Dumbledore smiled, "even in the face of great difficulty, humour is a wonderful remedy."
"Remedy?" she enquired bluntly, her smile fading. "There is no remedy, you and I both know that."
"Indeed," Dumbledore sighed, in one of those rare moments when she had seen his vulnerability, "you are sadly correct. However, what is done is done, and there can be no erasing the past. Always look on the bright side of life, as they say."
She gave a derisive snort, forgetting for the moment her astonishment at Dumbledore's apparent lack of anger. "What bright side is there to look on? I love this job, and now I have to leave it. They say love means sacrifice, but what more will I have to do? I've already told him that we can't be together because he's too young, and…and because…" she trailed off, looking at Dumbledore. He was about to speak, and she knew what he would say.
"A seventh year?" Again, she nodded dumbly. Dumbledore sighed, and said, "Mr Dalton?"
She tried to nod, or speak, or make some kind of signal, but found herself paralysed. This reaction was completely alien to her; she had never before had to make this kind of confession, and was finding it heart-wrenching. Having to tell someone for whom you have unconditional respect that you have exploited their trust is one of the most painful things a person can do. Unfortunately for her, along with it in that list is having to leave the one person you've ever truly loved, knowing that if you just reach out and do what you want to do, it would all be so simple…
"Oh, Marie…I just don't know what to say." She was sobbing now, her face buried in her hands. Dumbledore's sympathy tore her apart more than any screaming, yelling or violence could have done. She would never have expected these from Dumbledore, of course, but his total lack of hatred towards her…it was impossible to comprehend. All she wanted was to be screamed and yelled at; kicked or punched; any kind of physical punishment instead of this internal agony she was enduring, day after day. "I cannot pretend that I approve of what you have done, or that I am not, at least, disappointed."
"I know," she almost screamed at him, "I know! I wish I could take it all back, I wish I'd never – I wish it had never started."
"Do you?" asked Dumbledore quietly, steepling his long fingers together on the desk.
"Of course I do!" she said, keeping her voice as even as possible, "Who wouldn't? Why would I want to have wasted my whole life; my whole career; just to leave my job and the life I know in disgrace?"
Dumbledore studied her intently with his penetrating blue gaze, and got to his feet. Confused, her eyes followed him as he strode over to a cabinet behind his desk, pulled out a shimmering golden object and placed it on his desk. It was a Time-Turner. She watched as the Headmaster levitated the hourglass above his desk and flipped it over three times. One…two…three weeks. Three weeks exactly. But how did he know?
"Three weeks," Dumbledore said, echoing unwittingly her thoughts of a moment before. "All you have to do is reach out and touch it, and it will take you back. You can do it all again. Just reach out and touch it. I will be waiting here when you return."
Her breath hitched in her throat. It was really that easy. She had never meant for the past to actually be changed. She wished it hadn't happened, but – no, she didn't want that. She didn't want the most beautiful experience of her life to be erased. The thought of him not sharing her memory of what they had done…she would rather be facing the loss of her job and her life she had built for herself than lose that. In some ways, that was a comforting thought. Her hand was hovering over the Time-Turner and, as she realised this, she pulled it back like lightning.
"No," she said firmly.
"No?" Dumbledore smiled, and her heart sank. He had known she wouldn't do it all along. But he had still given her the chance.
"No," she said with grim resolve. "But you knew I wouldn't, didn't you?"
"You had the chance and you chose not to take it. That is your decision to make, and not mine. Are you sure?" She nodded resolutely, and with a flick of Dumbledore's wand, the Time-Turner was back in its cabinet. "In that case," he said, steepling his fingers again on the polished wood of his desk, "we can talk about the future. There is no point, I find, in trying to discuss what is to come when one's mind is still firmly in the past."
She sighed. "You're right, of course. But Professor, I don't know if you understand."
"I'm sure I don't. One cannot hope to comprehend the inner workings of another person's experiences without aid. Please, do enlighten me."
"Professor Dumbledore, I love him. I know that doesn't make what I did any better, but it makes it so much harder! It would be so easy just never to see him again, leave and have my baby. Well, not easy, but I think you know what I mean. Professor?"
"I understand that, at least. But on the contrary – that fact does make it better. However, I myself was never in doubt about the fact that you thought you loved him, and he loved you."
"I thought I loved him? I do love him! We wouldn't be having this conversation if I didn't! Can't you see that?" She got to her feet, truly angry now. "Do you think I would try to ruin someone because I had some kind of stupid crush on him? Do you really think that little of me?" She knew she was being overzealous, especially as Dumbledore had all the right in the world to think as little of her as he wished.
"That is not what I meant."
"What did you mean then?" she snapped, suddenly loathing everything about Dumbledore, from his pointy hat to the tips of his purple and gold slippers poking out from under his robes.
"I meant," Dumbledore said, not seeming to notice the horrible look she was giving him, "that love is fleeting. Can you honestly see yourself still in love with him in fifty years' time, when you are growing old and ugly and wrinkled?"
"Yes! Of course I can! Do you think I don't know what love is?" This was a stupid thing to say, as Dumbledore knew more about her than anyone else in the world did, apart from an obvious exception.
"Oh, I think you know what love is. But the question is," the Headmaster asked softly and gently, looking directly at her, "does he?"
This question seemed to bounce around in her skull for an age before the meaning penetrated. She could hear Dumbledore's words still echoing in her ears. She had always wondered; always wondered if she was kidding herself. She had never thought that he truly loved her, for he was too young to know…but he had asked her to have faith in him, and she had tried.Otherwise, she would never have… But had she made a horrible mistake? Had she taken advantage of him after all? She broke down into tears again, her head falling onto her arms as she sat down heavily, leaning on Dumbledore's desk.
"The mere fact that this question has reduced you to tears," Dumbledore said quietly, "proves to me that you have doubted him. If you knew you loved each other as a couple would have to do to get through this, I don't believe you would have this doubt."
She wanted to retort. She wanted to say, 'Of course he loves me! He loves me as much as I love him! How could you even doubt it?' but she couldn't. She didn't know, and she felt that she would have known, if it were true. Instead, she took a deep breath and tried to clam down. Dumbledore waited patiently until the tears stopped leaking from her eyes, then waited just as patiently for her to speak.
"Fine. Maybe he loves me, maybe he doesn't. I'm sure that's irrelevant anyway." She didn't sound convinced, even to her own ears, but Dumbledore didn't question her. "What do I do now?"
"Are you set on leaving?"
"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "Whatever else may happen, Hogwarts will bring back too many memories for me now, good and bad."
"You will always be welcome here, you know," Dumbledore said, his voice tinged with sadness.
"Welcomed by you, yes, but perhaps not by others. Either way, that's the one thing I've been able to make my mind up about."
The Headmaster didn't argue. "And what of your child?"
She looked shocked for a minute. "You aren't suggesting I wouldn't keep it?"
Dumbledore shrugged. "There is always a choice."
"I could never let go of something I love so much." She wondered for a moment what she was talking about: the child or his father.
"Indeed, love is a strange and powerful thing," Dumbledore smiled.
"You've always taught me that."
Dumbledore smiled again, wistfully this time, and said, "If there's one thing I can teach the world, I would like it to be love."
Coming from anyone else, this would have been a bizarre statement, but coming from Dumbledore it just sounded true. "Everyone has to have a legacy."
"Ah, but everyone has love as a legacy."
"Not everyone," she contradicted. "Some people aren't as fortunate as that. To have loved and lost is better than never to have loved."
"You're wise beyond your years," Dumbledore said, with that expression of his that was entirely honest without being completely serious.
"I'm not so young any more," she sighed. "If I have to grow old, I should get some compensation!"
"Nonsense, you're not yet old. A similar age to most mothers having their first child, in fact." Now he looked wistful again, and just a little sad.
She smiled regretfully, and said, "A new life in the world can't be a bad thing."
Dumbledore looked at her intensely. "But a life without love is a terrible thing," he said. "Promise me that you will love this child, however much pain you must go through in the coming months. Never blame this baby for any of it, for no one can be responsible for events in which they have no choice."
She knew that Dumbledore was gently reminding her that it had been her choice and, ultimately, her fault, but she didn't mind. "How could I not love the child of someone I love so much? No matter -" she said as she saw Dumbledore about to speak, "- whether he loves me or not, I love him, and I will love his child just as dearly, and probably more so."
He nodded. "Well spoken. However, I must press upon you the necessity to consider other matters."
Ah, other matters. "You mean what I will do about –" She couldn't speak his name. It was strange, after all she had told Dumbledore already, but she just couldn't mention him like that. It would be too painful, somehow.
"Yes," Dumbledore said, without needing her to finish. "What will happen now?"
"I – I really don't know, Professor." She looked up at him, blinking back tears again, imploring him to give her the answers as he was so invariably able to.
"Do you want my advice?"
"Yes, yes please," she almost begged.
"Well… You are not going to like what I say, whatever I say and however I say it." She nodded but didn't speak, showing that she understood and wouldn't question the Headmaster. "End it," he said bluntly. "There is no other way."
"No other –" she went pale, willing herself to have misheard. After all, if Dumbledore said… "No other way?"
Dumbledore bowed his head. "How else would you have it? Would you marry him? Watch as he sees you grow old?"
"I couldn't – oh, I don't know! How am I supposed to know?"
"No one can really know the correct choice in such a situation, but my advice is to leave him, and sooner rather than later. This way will cause the least pain, for him at least. Surely, if what you say is true, that is what you want."
"Of course I want that! But isn't there some other –" she tailed off, looking distraught. She knew the answer to her own unfinished question. Dumbledore shook his head, and her shoulders slumped. She started again, so quietly this time that the Headmaster had to lean towards her to hear what she had to say. "What will I tell him? About – about our baby?"
Again, Dumbledore sighed. "Do what you think is best. Which way will make it easier for him? To know that you are carrying his child, or to believe that you need never see each other again?"
"He – if he knew, he wouldn't let me end it. He'd want to be there, I know he would. But that means – that means I can't tell him. How can I bring up a child like that, never being able to tell them who their father is; no child wants that, I should know."
"You will fall in love again," Dumbledore said gently. "You will find someone to be a father to this child. Someone old enough and wise enough to do the best he can, and be truly devoted in a way –"
She interrupted him. "Don't say it. Please don't say he couldn't, because I'd have to contradict you. Please, just let him alone. Whether he could be a good father or not isn't what matters, so please…" she trailed off, looking at Dumbledore.
"Indeed. I apologise. Now, to the matter in hand. Are we agreed?"
"I suppose so," she said sadly, not quite able to comprehend the decision she had just made – or had she been the one to make it? – or what was ahead of her, "but what choice do I have?"
"There is always a choice, and the choice is so often between what is right and what is easy. One has to ask oneself: if I take the easy path, will it ever become right, or will it lead to worse pain than the other path could ever have done?"
"I see," she said slowly. "If we try to stay together, but it doesn't work out because he needs someone younger and with less responsibility and, and everything else, and he leaves, then it'll leave me ripped apart with a child who's had to see their father leave and their mother a snivelling wreck."
"In a word, yes."
"In that case," she said, her face almost completely devoid of emotion, "I know what to do. Thank you, Professor."
She stood up slowly, mechanically, and began to walk towards the door. As she was about to leave, she turned to Dumbledore, who said, "The best of luck, my dear. I will always be here." She didn't answer, but left, walking just as steadily and robotically as she had a moment before. She couldn't have known what was to come – who could? After all, it is not every day that one has to make such a potentially disastrous decision.
x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x
She waited for him, as she always did, by a rock at the edge of the lake. She sat with her knees hugged to her chest, looking more childlike than he had ever seen her. More vulnerable. He walked up behind her, and she didn't look up. Either she was deeply absorbed in thought or felt no need to greet him. Sometimes they were like that; they would sit, silently, for endless minutes, not needing to communicate verbally what each of them was thinking. Today he sat down beside her and spoke. She looked up, startled.
"Aren't you cold? You've left your cloak inside."
"It's June, I'm not cold," she said, but gave an involuntary shiver. It wasn't from the cold, but he couldn't have known that.
"You're a bad liar."
"And you're a filthy hypocrite," she smiled, "I don't see you wearing a cloak."
"But you don't see me shivering either."
She cursed herself inwardly; she had promised herself that she wouldn't let herself get drawn in by him. She wouldn't leave any time for mercy: she would say her piece and leave. A part of her knew it could never be that easy, but still she kidded herself.
"Michael, I –"
"Shh, don't talk. Listen."
She listened, her head on his shoulder. She could hear all the sounds of the night, from the hooting of owls on their moonlit hunts to the rustle of trees in the forest. She tried to steel herself to speak again; to tell him that it was over, that she didn't love him any more. Somehow, though, her voice just didn't want to work. Suddenly, he sat up, turning to face her with a hand on her cheek.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing, I'm fine," she lied, mentally kicking herself again for being such a damn coward.
"Don't lie to me," he said, and there was an undertone to his voice that was almost menacing, although not in a sinister way. She knew that he hated to be lied to, and loathed herself even more for what she was putting him through.
"Alright. Fine, I won't lie to you any more. I don't love you."
"You don't –" his normally pale face was now ashen. "You're lying."
"No I'm not," she said, willing herself not to fall upon him in floods of tears. She had to stay strong.
"I don't believe you," he said softly. He wasn't angry – it would have been better if he were. He took her face in his hands and gazed into her eyes.
"You have to believe me. I don't love you, and I'm sorry I lied to you, but you've got to believe me now. I'm ending it, Michael. This was all a stupid mistake."
"A stupid mistake? How can you say that? Why are you doing this!" This last question came out as a strangled shriek, and it made her heart ache to hear it.
"I've told you why, Michael. I don't love you, and I can't go on lying to you, it's not fair."
"Not fair? Not fair? Why are you doing this? I love you! Why are you trying to do this?"
"I have to, you're blind, don't you see? You're blinded by the idea of being in love. I don't love you and you don't love me. That's all it was – a fling. A stupid fling."
He let go of her face and sank to his knees, somehow seeming to shrink. He was an eleven year old boy again, awed at a Potions lesson. It was nigh impossible for her to hurt him like this, but she remembered what Dumbledore had said: "Surely you don't want to cause him pain." This was the least painful way in the end -–they could both move on, fall in love again, and start whole new lives. They would each become a fond memory in the other's mind, a "What if?" kind of daydream.
"Please, don't make this harder than it already is," she begged.
"It doesn't have to be hard!" he said softly, looking at her with imploring eyes. "You don't have to do this! Things are perfect as they are, we can leave and get married and have children and grow old together, and spend our whole lives never having to be apart! I love you and you love me and we were meant to be together!"
She broke down into tears at his words; they had never talked about life after Hogwarts, about getting married, or having children, or anything like that. It had been her dream for as long as she had loved him, and that seemed like an eternity. Now the first was an impossibility and the second inescapable. How ironic life could be.
"I don't love you!" she sobbed, trying to convince herself as much as him, but she knew it was no use. She could see it in his eyes: he knew she loved him and he would never let that go.
"Yes you do. I don't know why you're doing this, but I'm not going to let you go like that. I love you, and I'll fall apart without you, you know that. And I can't imagine you'd do great without me either. We're a huge part of each other's lives now, whether we like it or not. What are you afraid of, darling?"
"I'm not afraid of anything," she said, resolutely looking anywhere but his eyes, "I just don't love you. Is that so difficult to understand?"
"Of course it's hard to understand! We've been through all this together, and now you're telling me you're not in love with me…do you think I'm stupid? Do you really have that little respect for me that you think I'll just swallow this and let you rip up everything I've ever had? Do you?" He was angry now, but it was that kind of quiet anger that showed that, inside, he was screaming.
She tried to numb her feelings of terrible guilt, and the urge she felt to take him in her arms and make it all right again. "It's not that –"
"Then what is it? If you want this to end – want us to end – you could at least be honest. I think I deserve that, don't you?" he said quietly, and, to her complete astonishment, she saw tears in his eyes. He wasn't a man who showed weaknesses; telling her he loved her had been hard enough, but on this occasion he couldn't hide the horrible, gut-wrenching grief he felt.
She knew – they both knew – that this was the point of no return. Whatever decision she made now would be irreversible. If she told him the truth, the whole truth, she couldn't take it back. But she knew she couldn't tell him that, for he wouldn't let her leave, and she wouldn't want to leave, if she did. She couldn't keep up this lie either, for he just wasn't willing to accept it. She would just have to strike some kind of sordid compromise.
"Alright, fine. Have it your way. I'm leaving Hogwarts and I'm leaving everyone. No negotiations, no ties. It's complicated, so don't ask me to explain."
"So you do love me." It wasn't a question, it wasn't a statement.
"I never said that."
"But you didn't contradict it."
"Look, that's not the issue here." She was angry too. Why did he have to make it so hard? Didn't he understand that she wouldn't do this unless she really needed to?
"If you say so," he sighed. "I can see I'm not going to get anywhere tonight. But I swear I'll never give up on you. Never ever, not as long as I live. I'll always love you, and I know you'll love me too, somewhere in that heart of yours."
She felt paralysed, unable to do anything but try to fight the tears as he got to his feet and walked away, the moonlight casting an eerie glow over him. He looked like some kind of ghost, she thought; the ghost of what she could have had.
x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, zapping flies in the stifling heat. He felt hollow; there was no other word for it. He tried to block the sound of his parents yelling, and rolled over onto his front, clamping a pillow over his ears. He couldn't hear their shouts any more, but he clamed the pillow down harder and harder, trying to block his thoughts too.
He had tried to reach her. Every day he had gone to her office; sometimes he had sat outside for hours into the night, waiting for her to return from dinner; sometimes he had knocked and knocked until his knuckles bled, when he knew she knew he was there. Every time he saw her in a corridor, he would push and shove his way towards her, but by the time he reached her, she would disappear without a trace.
He heard the distant strains of music from the kitchen below; it was the song his mother always played as she cried, and she cried more often now than he could ever remember. He hated his father, and his mother too, for staying with him.
'Waking up here on a rainy dayI swore last time that I would stay away
I came down here to talk to you
I said this time I might get through
I heard her speak but all the words were dead
We talked all night and left it all unsaid
So we agree to disagree
At least we've got our memories'
He tried to block the music out too, but even when he couldn't hear it, it still played on relentlessly in his head. He began to cry, his shoulders shaking as they hadn't done since he was a little boy.
'Whatever's written in your heart
That's all that matters, yeah
We'll find a way to say it all, someday'
It was the kind of sobbing that people reserved for funerals. That kind of dull, aching pain inside that meant you had finally realised that you'd lost something you would never, ever, get back. There was no restraint, no pattern to his tears. He cried like a child, letting all the pain and anguish fly out of him, his breath rattling and chest hitching. He finally knew, at this moment, that he could never get her back. She had gone for good, and there was nothing he could do. If she didn't want to be found, he would never be able to find her. If she didn't want to be loved, he would never be able to love her.
'You've got your secrets, yeah, and I've got mine
We've played this game now for a long, long time
You don't lean on anyone
You never had no place to run
You never wanted me to get too close
We love and hate the ones we need the most
I tried to find a way to you
One thing I could say to you'
He had meant it when he said, "I swear I'll never give up on you. Never ever, not as long as I live. I'll always love you." Maybe she would move on, but he couldn't. He knew that he would spent his life, from this moment on, searching for the woman he loved who didn't want to be found. He could never hope to find her: she had years of magical experience to utilise, and he would always be one step behind. He knew that, and it killed him inside to know that he would spend the rest of his life this way.
'Whatever's written in your heart
That's all that matters, yeah
We'll find a way to say it all, someday'
He wished, for the first time in his life, that he was a Muggle. He could die sooner, and have his heartache over with. He wondered whether, in a hundred years' time, he would be able to feel her die, years before him. Would it feel like a weight lifted, or would it rip whatever remained of his heart into shreds? Would he die too? He supposed if it was possible to die of a broken heart, he would already have done so.
'Maybe I've always set my sights too high
You take the easy way and still get by
I know there ain't no special way
We all get there anyway
I heard her speak but all the words were dead
We talked all night and left it all unsaid
So we agree to disagree
At least we've got our memories'
He would never be powerful enough or wise enough to find her. He knew, though, that if he could find her, he could show her he loved her and make it right again. They could still have their future together, with children and grandchildren and growing old. If only he was someone like Dumbledore, with intelligence, power and information at his disposal. He could do it. He could do it if he had power like that. He could get her back and mend his broken heart.
'Whatever's written in your heart
That's all that matters, yeah
We'll find a way to say it all, someday'
He wasn't afraid of power; he never had been. People talked of Dark magic as harmful, but why should it have to be? Magic is only what its user wants it to be. Dark magic would give him power, but he couldn't use it; he didn't know how.
He jerked upright as a tapping noise shook him out of his thoughts. A crow was sitting on his windowsill, poking its head around the windowpane. He suddenly wished he hadn't opened the window. Nevertheless, he strode over and removed the scroll of parchment from the crow's leg. It pecked him viciously, opening a gash on his palm. He watched the blood for a moment as it trickled down his wrist and flowed onto the letter, soaking the seal so he couldn't read it any more.
He unrolled the parchment slowly, and read as blood trickled over the words from the wound on his hand.
'Mr Dalton,
We are aware that your magical education is now complete, and we would like to offer you an employment opportunity. We can give you a variety of tasks, and we hope that you will reward us with your considerable skills. Above all, we want to give you what you can't get elsewhere. We can give you your heart's desire. Nothing is beyond our power.
All we ask for in exchange is your loyalty.
Come to the Goblin's Wife in Diagon Alley tonight. We will be there.'
He re-read the letter, then rolled it up and tossed it into the fire. He knew his parents would try to stop him, but he didn't want to be stopped.
Here it is...the next installment in the hopefully-less-confusing-than-it-was-before story. I've had this written for a couple of weeks, and I'm sorry to keep you waiting. However, my beta hasn't been able to send me her notes, so I've decided to upload, mistakes and all. Therefore, I apologise for any particularly bad writing, but I hope you've enjoyed it all the same. :)
Becca