AN: I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who took the time to review this story. I have never gotten a response like this before, and I don't know quite the words to express my gratitude. So, in my own inadaquate way, thank you and enjoy!
Albus sat alone in his dark office, only a single gutted candle provided the light he needed. The portraits had left to give him some desperately needed privacy. She was supposed to be there, they were going to meet. He looked down and stared at a single photograph held between his trembling fingers. It was in a simple silver frame, and they were dancing. It had been the Yule ball during the tournament, and she was enchanting.
He watched as they swirled together, and he sat mesmerized as she laughed at a joke he couldn't recall. He could remember the smell of her perfume, the way she felt in his arms, even the glint in her eyes, but he could not remember the joke that brought out his favorite sound. It had taken every once of self control he could muster not to drop down on his knees in the midst of everyone and declare his undying affections.
But, he had managed, he held himself together, and cursed himself until that morning. With a simple look and a gentle kiss, his heart had sung and the world never seemed brighter. All morning he sat in his chair with an idiotic grin plastered to his face. He let the pictures of her in wedding robes, growing large with child, and the sounds of little feet and giggles ringing through his empty chambers occupy his mind. They would name the child Rebecca, or perhaps Sean if it were a boy.
By lunch time, he had already moved on to the slew of grandchildren that he could spoil before retiring home with his beautiful wife for a quiet evening. For a few blissful hours he had been content, complete, but now things are so different.
He ran his thumb along the edge of the frame, his vision obscured by the mist covering his eyes. "Where did you go Min?" he asked the photo, half expecting her top answer, her hands resting upon her hips in annoyance. But, no answer came, and he was still left alone.
A sort of numbness had taken over his system. He could still see, feel, but the sensations didn't register. Nothing could overcome jagged pain that had taken up residence in his chest, trying to claw its way out. He had seen a muggle movie once, Spaceballs, and he half expected the small green monster to explode from him and begin to dance, top hat in hand. Albus shook his head and smiled faintly at the image.
He was just about to put the frame back in its place atop his desk when his thumb slipped, catching on the edge. "Damn," he growled out as his thumb gave way to the sharp corner. He stared stupidly at the trail of blood that was making its way down his hand, threatening to stain his sleeve. He had smeared the picture as well when his hand pulled away.
He watched as the crimson fluid dribbled down, just covering the dancing couple. His mind desperately wanted to latch onto something, the tiniest sliver hidden in the deepest recesses of his mind. He sat fascinated as his blood gathered at the bottom of the frame at their feet, and then he looked back at his own bleeding thumb. Then, with sickening clarity, it descended upon him like the moth to a flame.
Gripping the frame tightly, he tried not to run as he made his way to the dungeons. He found Severus exactly where he thought the young man would be, brooding over a bottle of Firewhisky, much like he would have been, if he were a drinking man. Severus' eyes were hooded, unfocused, and Albus could see the already emptied bottle sitting at his feet.
Not being able to waste another moment, Albus walked past his inebriated Potions master and into the bathroom, grabbing a hangover potion from the shelf. Forcing it down Severus' unwilling throat, Albus all but shook him until clarity returned to the fathomless pits Severus claimed were eyes. "Albus, what in the hell," Severus sputtered, trying to catch his bearings.
"What do you know about binding potions Severus?"
"I suppose it depends on what you would need one for." Severus looked at the headmaster carefully, and he wasn't pleased with what he saw.
There was a sort of madness behind the eyes that he had never seen before, and Albus' face was flushed with what Severus wasn't sure. Albus straightened up, pushing away from Severus forcefully.
Never letting go of the picture, Albus began to pace, turning quickly and sharply on his heels. "I don't know if its possible..never been tried before..doubt even thought of, but if..would have to talk to Poppy..catch a grip.."
'Yes, please do,' Severus thought before he could stop himself. "Albus, what are you doing here?"
Severus had to brace himself from jumping as Albus spun around to face him. He was actually smiling, a bad sign given the circumstances. He began waving the picture frame in the air, letting little drops of blood fly through the air. "She fell on the time turner Severus. She broke it."
The sheer fact that Albus seemed pleased by this worried Severus even more than the smile. The man had been in his office not two hours ago, all but sobbing into his tea, and now he was grinning like a school boy. "Headmaster," Severus began slowly, but Albus cut him off.
"Don't you understand Severus. I can't believe it took me this long. She broke the tuner. She would have had to cut herself if she were holding it, wouldn't she? There would have been blood," he continued, holding up his own hand.
"The power of eternity mixed with the bonds of man to create a force greater than the universe itself," Severus whispered, his eyes growing wide in understanding and excitement. "But Tarsus was never able to prove that theory," he rebutted, even as his own curiosity began to rise.
"But, when he created the first Time Tuner, no one knew for sure if they would work at all, never mind what could actually happen if the energy was released. He was never sure what would happen if blood was added to the equation, but he took a guess."
Realization finally dawned on Severus, and his temper rose. "You cannot be serious! It's official," he proclaimed, jerking his arms up, "I work for the stupidest man in all of England! We've already lost Minerva, you can't truly be thinking of going after her? What if you cannot hold it long enough? What if you are pulled through as well and we lose you? And, how do you know we can find the right time frame?" Severus' eyes blazed and his chest heaved. "You cannot be that big of an idiot Albus. Use your head man; it's just too dangerous."
Albus pulled his hand away from his chin, where it had landed as Severus ranted, and gestured toward him. "We Severus?" he asked, that damnable knowing glint back in his eyes.
"Yes, we headmaster. If you think I am going to sit idly by while you blow us all up, than that Gryffindor pride has finally swollen your head." He brushed past the headmaster, moving toward the massive wall of books that dominated the room and ran his fingers along the spines. Deftly, removed a single volume and moved toward his desk, cradling the volume to his chest. "The bonding potion could work, but it has never been used for this before. There is no way to know if it will hold you here or not. Even if it could, you may only get one chance."
"Once chance is all I will need my boy. It's all I'll need." Albus leaned over Severus' shoulder, and they began the arduous task of researching the impossible.
Four hours, and three pots of peppermint tea later, found Minerva securely wrapped up in front of the roaring fire back at the Ministry. She hadn't been surprised to find a tartan dressing gown hanging over the back of an arm chair when she had walked through the door, cold and damp, but the thought had been appreciated. She still couldn't understand, or even fathom, the stories that Molly had told her of the last few years.
Albus had decimated the Order. All of them, every member, except for Hermione Granger and Severus Snape, had tried to make him see reason when he began to change. Each of them had ended up in that sadists playground.
Uprisings within the areas were common, and Molly had lost everyone with the exception of young Ginevera to attacks, not by guards, but by other inhabitants. Several of the old Aurors had taken up the task of an informal law enforcement, but they were vastly outnumbered. But, by far, the most interesting stories were about, the now not so young, Mr. Potter.
Apparently, when it all began, Harry had gone to Dumbledore and tried to reason with the older man. He was offered a position within the new government, and Harry quickly learned that Albus didn't much enjoy being laughed at. The duel that ensued had destroyed half of the Ministry building and left Albus with a fresh scar and Harry on the run. No one, at least none within the government, had heard or seen the young man since.
Most thought he had died, laying forgotten in a deserted field or ditch, but others knew better. It was two years ago that he began to surface again. At first, they were minor reports. A man resembling Harry was seen wandering through the streets, or darting into a shop as a patrol passed by.
Soon, those isolated reports became a running time line. He was seen at the head of a minor uprising, protesting the price of bread or milk. These quickly led to incidents of violence against the guards. More than once, a praetorian was found, unconscious and bleeding in the streets, his wand missing. The people rallied around him, just as they had before, but this time it was in defense against an utterly different kind of monster.
Minerva had asked for names, but Molly had shushed her. "Even the walls have ears," she had whispered, her eyes darting to the door where Daniels stood watch. "But," she added quickly, "he's not the only one with spies. Feigning loyalty isn't that difficult." And that had been the end of the visit.
Minerva leaned back into the love seat, letting the heat of the fire seep into her bones, easing the weariness of the day. She let her head fall back and closed her eyes, the darkness comforting her like an old friend. She had managed to avoid Albus upon her return, somehow, but it couldn't last. In fact, she knew morning would bring questions as he joined her for breakfast. The note pinned to her door had made that fact quite clear. She could only hope to avoid most of his wrath. If she could simply pass the trip off as a visit to a friend, perhaps he would overlook it, but she was beginning to doubt he was capable of overlooking anything.
The man was an enigma, lost within himself. He had become a cold, unfeeling, despot. He was everything she loathed and feared, but he was also something else. There were flashes, even the briefest of moments, where his eyes twinkled, or his voice softened. He would be the man he once was, but those were exception, not the rule. She only had to look at his former friends to see that.
Molly had mentioned something interesting though, almost as if in passing. Everyone he disapproved of ended up in green sector. For all the trouble the people caused him, there had never been a report of a person simply disappearing. He had never brought himself to that, and the image of his face when he confronted them still burned bright in her memory. He had been shocked, almost hurt, by their outcry; the people had wounded him, and none of them knew it. She stood, stretching, before turning toward the bedroom. She let her hand rest against the doorframe as she stopped, leaning into it for support. "Maybe," she whispered, "maybe." She walked into the bedroom and shut the door behind her quietly.
Just as it snapped shut, he reappeared, standing only feet from her door. His face was rife with indecision, longing battling with the urge to flee, hide in the world he had created. "Sleep well Minerva," he whispered before disappearing once again and walking through the door and into the corridor beyond. Tomorrow they would talk, and he would have the answers he needed. He couldn't lose her again; not again.
