A/N: Written in 2007 and edited in 2020.
A Turn of the Hourglass, a Twist in Time
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the omniscient, omnipotent, greatest wizard of the age, was a fake.
Albus sat pensively in his office, twirling the miniature hourglass in his long, aged fingers.
He wrapped the fine gold chain around his fingers, brooding in one of his few free moments of the day. Every day he found a few minutes for his daily prayers to time itself.
A fine thing it was – a thick, fabricated, many-layered obfuscation. The present had the superior habit of slipping through his fingers as he gazed at the sands.
Moments would come and go, an instant would appear and dim. He held the sparkling artefact up to the firelight.
Faint memories of him spinning through time flit across his wavelength of conscious thought.
Of course, he could have saved Sirius. He considered it, because anything was achievable. But then it would not have taught the young boy what he needs to know. He needs this pain for the final act.
Admittedly, he didn't even need to end Tom Riddle. Albus Dumbledore was many things, but he was not a fool – he would not mock the prophecies of time itself.
Time needed to stop for his old, weary body. But who would continue his work? Who would prevent the inevitable? So much pain had time caused. What would happen to the schoolchildren?
He closed his eyes and imagined a twist, a flick of his wrist, a sharp pull, an incisive tug through the ripples of time.
Albus could go back. He could return to any point he wanted – he could discover everything Tom had discovered a thousand times over.
He paid dearly for time. He was fading, just like his perception of time itself. He was confused, old. One day the weariness would outrun him. Time would not wait for him. Mercilessly, time would speed up the death, all too anxious to rid itself of its most supreme meddler.
He leant back into his chair and closed his eyes, feeling dizzy. A Time-Turner was a missile you paid exceedingly for. A weapon so powerful one either dies, or you become tainted. The fine grains of time would call everything into place. Logic. That was another concept worth dying for.
There are some secrets that must be kept. Time is one of those. Time takes away what you hold dear – your most precious flower could wither and die and the apocalypse would wipe out anything you ever cared for.
Albus had the most failproof weapon against Tom. Young Harry was his backup; He had his only true companion, time. Time always conquered.
He had saved many lives, and prevented tragedies. He would prevent another. Severus – his most prized servant had passed that morning.
Time was grey. Albus was white. To some it was a measurement – to others it was their life. There is no madness. There is only a perceived reality.
A flash.
A moment.
A turn of the hourglass.
The only thing growing was his will to die.