Dumbledore would wonder later, in the privacy of his chambers, whether it was fate or calculated on the part of their guests—though how in the world they would be able to, he didn't know—that it was this light-hearted scene that Pomona was greeted by, rather than the terrible tales that Granger and Evans had told about the war earlier.
"Oh! Am I interrupting?" Professor Sprout asked, visibly flustered, looking at her and Harry, then away, and back again.
"No, no, come in, Pomona. We were just about finished, unfortunately. I am sorry to say that you missed the most important bits, but I'm sure Minerva won't mind filling you in, will you, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked, turning toward Professor McGonagall expectantly.
"Oh, of course I wouldn't mind! Come, Pomona, let us retire to my rooms and have a little chat, won't we? It's been far too long since we have simply talked, hasn't it?" Hermione watched as Professor McGonagall took Professor Sprout by the arms and swiftly led her out of the office. "No quick chats about who's the most troublesome lot coming into classes and such could hardly compare to an actual sit-down conversation with tea and biscuits could it?"
Hermione listened, amused, as she had never known Professor McGonagall to have ever been so chatty before. As her professor, McGonagall had been strict but fair, speaking verbosely only to teach and discipline her students; in War, she was a skilled soldier and leader, sparse with her words; and at the end, she had said nothing at all—but how could she, when her throat had been cut?.
"Miss Granger." Hermione turned back to Dumbledore. "You are free to leave but I ask if you may indulge an old man's curiosity for just a moment?"
Hermione felt her brow rise.
"Actually, we have a full night ahead of us and only cleared a certain amount of time for this meeting; we really must be going now."
Dumbledore's disappointment was clear.
"Oh, is that so? I apologize for keeping you as long as we did then. I only had two more questions for the night…" He trailed off, clearly hoping she would take pity on him and answer his questions.
She frowned, her mind already on the dozens of things she had to take care of before retiring for the night; the paperwork that was waiting for her attention, scheduled meetings with certain people that she could not miss, other meetings within the Remnant that were just as important, and of course, she had a very easily bored and mischievous son waiting for her to tuck him in. Who knows what foolish things the child would attempt to alleviate his boredom?
No, she couldn't waste any more time.
She shook her head and spoke in an apologetic but firm tone: "I'm sorry Headmaster but we just don't have the time. If you really have just two questions to ask, then please send me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. But I really must be going now. Good night."
She turned and headed for the open door, Harry right behind her and ignored Dumbledore's attempts to call her back. She really didn't have time for another "talk" with Dumbledore—he wasn't the only one who was busy—and he certainly didn't have children of his own to tak care of, not personally.
"Miss Granger—"
But she had already stepped through and in seconds, the sound of her footsteps had faded away. Filius had already excused himself and Riddle had followed after him with a speculative eye, after a quick "If there's anything else…?" Only Sirius had stayed, his eyes as dark and unfathomable as the sea on a moonless night.
"Was there something you needed to speak to me about, Sirius?"
For some time, Sirius continued to stare at the ground, seemingly fascinated by the graying threads and fading color of the once-burgundy rug. Then he took a deep breath and let it out in one long, drawn-out shudder.
"Albus…" He started, swallowed back against the bile that had risen, and started again. "Albus, I read their packet, I listened to every little thing they say and I know—I thought I knew—what it meant to face the Darkness, and how could I not with the family I come from? But Evans…and those…those people…"
He closed his eyes and Dumbledore knew what he had really wanted to say was "children."
"I didn't understand, not really, how bad it became in their world. The things that were in those packets—it was like reading some old Auror report, an investigation that'd suddenly gone wrong—it wasn't, wasn't real, you know? It's like a part of me kept expecting them to admit that this was all some elaborate joke or something, even while another part of me was putting together a file in my head of everything I knew about them, everything I could observe or was told. But it is real, isn't it?"
His fingers clutched his hair in a tight, painful grip. The Headmaster wasn't surprised to see the misery in those eyes. It seemed that the more they found out about the world that could have been, whenever Evans or any of the other three revealed even a little bit about themselves and what they had experienced—feeling so hopeless on how to react to it all, much less help these people, was the only appropriate—the only possible—response they could make.
Dumbledore considered the question carefully and answered, speaking in a measured tone, evaluating every word he spoke.
"It is real because they have lived it; they have survived a war that brought their world to their knees and they rose up, bloody and weary but triumphant, determined to make something of the ashes that surrounded them, of what was left. It is real because to deny them this, is to deny them the right to live when so many of the ones they loved and fought to protect must have died, and they must have wished—perhaps, are wishing even now—that they should have died in their stead…that it would be better to die than to live on. It is real, my dear boy—"
Dumbledore came forward to hold onto the shoulders of the man who sat before him, "Because they have known nothing else. This is their reality, their point of reference, the thing by which they measure all else against."
"Even so, I feel like I will never believe it's truly real and that I'll ask another stupid question of them. Maybe the next time, it might be too stupid to ignore. Maybe the next time, Evans won't be so forgiving.""
"Sirius—"
He hunched into himself, like he's like nothing more than to curl up under the covers and pretend the monsters didn't exist, like a child who didn't know better—didn't know that the real monsters weren't so easily fooled or recognized or defeated.
He asked in a hoarse voice, "But why…why do they suffer even now, after their war is already done?" and knew it was another stupid question even as he asked but his mind just refused to cooperate with him right now. And he wanted to know. Because he just couldn't think—the answers weren't coming to him—and he needed to know, even if he proved just how stupid he could be this night. He needed to know.
Dumbledore stared into Sirius' eyes with a sad, knowing look. 'Ah, Sirius. Sometimes I forget that despite your experience as an Auror and your countless duels, that you've never known what it means to truly fight for your life…War is nothing like what you think or could have ever imagined.'
His lips curved in a gentle, tragic smile.
"Because the scars of war are not always there for the eyes to see; sometimes those wounds are so deep beneath the skin and the names of those they once cherished carved onto their most secret places, that the wounds may never heal, no matter how much time may pass. And sometimes those names may even be the names of their enemies, whose lives were so entwined with their own that they could never forget their face. Or the faces of the ones they killed, whether it was necessary or done in the name of vengeance. War is not a thing of glory, of honor, Sirius—it is never about honor—it is about death and destruction. Nothing else."
And then he stood, clasped his hands behind his back and the maddening twinkle in his eyes he was so known for was back in his eyes once again.
"I think it's time to retire for the night, wouldn't you say, Sirius?"
"But, Headmaster—"
And when Sirius went back to calling him "Headmaster" rather than "Albus", Dumbledore knew he would be fine, given some time.
He let a bright grin overtake his face and by the baffled expression Sirius sported, knew it had worked to distract him.
"No, no, I must insist, Sirius. While you may be quite all right, an old man like me needs his rest or he won't be able to go about his way the next day. Why, I'd be falling over into my bowl of oatmeal at breakfast!"
He chuckled.
"Come now; let's get you back to your rooms, shall we?" Dumbledore said, herding the younger man from his rooms toward the door. "And don't you have some important test or some such thing tomorrow?" He cocked his head to the side.
All at once, Sirius' despondent manner disappeared and Dumbledore faced the disorganized, energetic young man who often times forgot about his own exam days and worked the whole night making them up. He would say something, but since the tests were always written well enough and on topic, and none of the students had so far complained about the tests—except to simply complain about having to take them—he let his professor do as he will.
"Bloody buggering hell! I can't believe I forgot! Forgive me, Headmaster, but I really must go—exam day and all that. Aaahhhh, where did I put those texts…?"
Dumbledore watched, amused, as Sirius ran all the way down the corridor, tripped, got back up and went skidding around the corner at a speed that would have him tripping—or worse—again. He shook his head and turned back to get some of his own work done. He sighed at the pile of paperwork his Deputy Headmistress had gleefully returned to him and cringed at the memory of her wrath. He only hoped the poor boy didn't hit his head on the banister or something like that, 'else he would have to call back Madame Pompfrey, who was on vacation at the moment.
He shuddered, as he remembered what she had done to the last person who had caused her to return from her vacation early.
AN: I keep dropping hints about Hermione's son and very soon you'll finally get to meet him—and his namesake!—but first, a little more interaction between the Remnant, or the leaders at least, and the greater Hogwarts population. And sorry that this chapter is so short, it was gonna be longer but then I realized that I could put all that stuff later and since I already have the next chapter written already….well, I just really want to get this story moving.
Which is how I should be feeling about my other story, Book One: Struggle, but *shrugs* I don't have any enthusiasm for that one right now. Though I'm still working on it and I might be posting the next chapter for that story soon. I didn't realize exactly how much introspection I'd put into that story versus actual dialogue or action…well I did, but I wanted to go slow because it's my first story and sets the tone for the rest of the series…sorry for talking about another story, just thought I should say a little something about that, in case anyone came to this story through that one.
Also: I also wanted to take the time to respond to a review (currently the only one in its existence at this time) here, instead of in a PM for the very simple reason that this reviewer has no account on (it seems)—
Skyz: I'm not sure why you don't have any reviews for this. It's quite brilliant. Just the scope of the world you've placed before Dumbledore and this new world is awesome. Everything the Remnant has dealt with has been told so very, very well, not too over done at all. You've created a world that I find intriguing and can't wait to see what comes next. I think you've done a great job with the characterization of everyone so far, they have recognizable traits, but you've fleshed them out so that they fit nicely in this AU. Different but not too OOC. You're keeping me on my toes about Evans. Is he Harry Potter? Did he tell the truth? I think he sprinkled in some truths, but he's a master manipulator. I love it! I really do enjoy this and have to thank you for writing this. I'm glad you've kept posting despite the lack of reviews. Thanks very much.
Skyz, I am glad that you are enjoying my story so far and I'm happy to have a reviewer with something constructive to say—no slight against you but offering simply praise, as wonderful as it is to receive, and dealing with trolls, the nuisances that they are—I always appreciate a reader who takes the time to ask me the hard questions and make sure the story is sound. I am happy to hear that you like the characterization, that was honestly the most worrisome aspect of writing this story for me because it's so far into the future (in comparison to my other story, Book One: Struggle, which is the first in the trilogy), their personalities already shaped by experience and reality. I was trying very hard to straddle the line between "different but not too OOC". As for Evans, he could very well be Harry Potter in disguise, having fun messing with Dumbledore or he could really be a guy named Evans who took the place of the canon-compliant Boy-Who-Lived. But yes, he mostly told the truth but there were definitely some half-truths in there and certain lies by default, due to omission. Thank you for reviewing, you really made my day.