A Gollum and a Wizard Almost Wrestle
"Precious!" Gollum let out a howl so intense and shrill upon the sight of his beloved precious that a crack immediately appeared on Dumbledore's old, half-moon shaped spectacles.
Never before had the most powerful wizard in history been so surprised. Here in front of him was a squealing creature calling him precious and he had absolutely no idea how to respond. Instinctively, he reached for his wand but found nothing. He groaned. If you can't expect people to have the decency to leave your wand alone while your gone, one should really be allowed to take it with them to the Afterlife. It surely would've saved a lot of trouble back in the day.
Suddenly, Gollum lunged. His squeals echoed throughout the old cabin as his skinny limbs flailed in the air. Dumbledore was knocked off his feet in surprise, dropping the ring and rolling off in a ball. As the strange creature rapidly approached, Dumbledore closed his eyes and rolled into the fetal position. Surely he'd done it now. Surely this was the end. And he wasn't coming back this time. He should never have given in to his stupid curiosity. He should've stayed snuggled up in his nice, warm cabin, making hot cocoa and sitting by the fire. But now this little slime monster was going to kill him.
And yet there was silence. All but for a soft whisper.
Slowly, Dumbledore opened his eyes and steadily climbed to his feet. Miraculously, his glasses had stayed on his face the entire time. Looking over to his grungy new companion, he saw something he was no stranger to. Obsession.
Gollum was crouched over the stone, holding the glittering relic to the light, examining it at every possible angle. He ran his fingers over every swoop of the ancient lettering and held the ring up to his face, caressing it with an unsettling admiration. "My precious," he whispered. "My precious is back. We are back my precious."
"Umm, excuse me my dear chap, but could explain to me what in devil's name is happening here?"
Gollum paid him absolutely no mind, as if all he could hear was the soft whispers of temptation emanating from the ring.
Seeing that no help could be found from this poor old creature, Dumbledore moved along to the only other thing he knew might work. Limping slightly as a result of his little tumble, Dumbledore walked to his small kitchen, lined with old cabinets covered by doors barely hanging on their hinges. He went over to his stove, surprisingly well-kept in comparison to the rest of his dilapidated home.
The stove was polished to perfection, its black marble reflecting light from the fireplace. Dumbledore placed his hand on the stove handle and pulled slightly, but not enough to open the door all the way. After muttering a few words under his breath, a soft white light began to shimmer from within the belly of the oven, and a large grinding noise came from somewhere much deeper. The cabin began to shake.
Dumbledore watched on with patience as Gollum sat in the corner, obliviously fondling his ring, and as cabinets and countertops began to move slowly but steadily apart. In the middle of the kitchen arose a small door, which swung open to reveal a short spiral staircase. With a sigh, Dumbledore realized he had some climbing to do.
After much moaning, groaning, and shifting about he was finally able to reach the bottom of the staircase.
The smell of old books and home hit him like a ton of bricks, making him smile upon impact. He wished Hagrid had told him about this little secret before he moved out.
Before him was the Hogwarts Library. Maybe here he would be able to find some answers.