This is the first short chapter to introduce a story idea I had to get out of my head. Albus Dumbledore is not as old as he should be in this story. AU during First Wizarding War.
1977 - late February - Dumbledore Manor
In the dimly lit room of Dumbledore Manor, the air hung heavy with anticipation as Albus Dumbledore surveyed the gathered witches and wizards. Breaking the silence with a solemn tone, he turned to his companions with a pressing question.
"Any news regarding the recruitment of new Death Eaters?" Dumbledore's inquiry cut through the quiet, his piercing gaze fixed on the faces before him.
Kingsley, his demeanor serious, shook his head in response. "Not much, but it appears they're targeting recent Hogwarts graduates. During my patrol in Hogsmeade last weekend, I spotted Dolohov," he revealed, his voice low.
The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on Minerva McGonagall, her furrowed brow betraying her deep concern. "That's deeply troubling. We cannot afford to underestimate their tactics," she remarked, her voice laced with determination.
Alastor Moody grunted in agreement. "We'll need to tighten our surveillance. Fabian, I expect a stricter patrol schedule on my desk tomorrow," he commanded, his steely gaze fixed on the maps spread out before him, not waiting for a response from the young auror.
Arthur Weasley, the voice of reason amidst the tension, spoke up with urgency. "We must also address the issue of communication through the Floo Network," he insisted, his tone grave. "Euphilia Edgecombe's acceptance to The Floo Network Authority and her ties to Alecto Carrow pose a significant security risk."
As Arthur's words hung in the air, murmurs began to ripple through the assembled witches and wizards, their voices blending into an indistinct cacophony. Conversations overlapped, each individual offering their own perspective on the pressing issue at hand.
Amidst the chatter, Albus's expression underwent a subtle transformation. Memories of the previous night flooded his mind, igniting a whirlwind of conflicting emotions beneath his typically composed exterior. Despite the turmoil raging within him, he maintained a facade of calm, nodding in apparent agreement with Arthur's assessment. Yet, beneath the surface, a silent storm of uncertainty and concern continued to brew, unnoticed amidst the clamor of voices filling the room.
"I believe it's prudent to station some of our members around Hogsmeade during upcoming school visits. Spread the word to those who couldn't make it tonight about the limitations of the Floo Network and—" Before he could finish his sentence, a sudden pop of apparition tore through the room, followed by a blinding light and a piercing scream. Startled, most of the adults in the room leaped from their seats, shielding their eyes while instinctively reaching for their wands.
As the light faded and their eyes adjusted, the occupants of the room were met with a gut-wrenching sight. A young woman sat at the center of the table, her thick, dark curls stained with blood trickling down her neck and mingling with the crimson flow from multiple wounds on her arm and torso. Jagged gashes marred her pale skin, oozing blood in rivulets that traced a macabre path across her body. Each wound told a tale of violence, the result of a brutal struggle. With trembling hands, she cradled the lifeless face of the older woman, her fingers gently caressing the contours of skin chilled by death. The older woman's eyes, wide open in a ghastly expression of horror, seemed to stare into an unseen abyss, frozen in a moment of terror endured in her final breaths. Despite the absence of movement, the starkness of her gaze conveyed a chilling narrative of the horrors witnessed in her last moments, haunting the room with an unsettling presence.
"NO!" The young woman's anguished cry pierced the air again and again, her voice raw with brokenness as she rocked back and forth, holding the older woman unmistakable resemblance between them, from the curve of their brows to the tilt of their noses, served to heighten the intensity of the moment. It was as if every line etched upon their faces told a story of shared laughter and shared tears, magnifying the heartache of their current plight. Some of the onlookers began to lower their wands, their eyes fixed on the devastating tableau unfolding before them, their hearts heavy with sorrow, while the young woman's cries quieted down to a faint muttering of words in a foreign language that none of them understood.
Soft murmurs rippled through the room like a gentle breeze, gradually growing louder until they formed a chorus of hushed voices. The sound not only captured the young woman's attention but also snapped Albus out of his reverie. He turned his panicked eyes toward her as she anxiously scanned the room, her gaze flickering in and out of focus.
With trembling hands, she reluctantly released her mother's side to search for her wand, while the other clung tightly to the lifeless form. Eventually, her eyes settled on Albus with a glimmer of recognition and relief, though her resolve faltered in the face of exhaustion and fear. Tears streamed down her face as adrenaline ebbed away, leaving her drained and broken from the unexplained assault.
As her vision blurred and her strength waned, the young woman's voice quivered as she uttered one final word before succumbing to exhaustion: "Dad" and with a heartbreaking sigh, she collapsed onto the table.
Albus, his features etched with sorrow, moved forward with urgency, his heart heavy with the burden of yet another tragedy. Tenderly, he reached out to the young woman, but before he could reach her, chaos erupted. The sudden collapse of the young woman sent shockwaves through the room, triggering a flurry of activity as witches and wizards rushed to her aid. Voices overlapped in a cacophony of concern, wands were drawn, and spells were cast in a desperate attempt to stabilize her condition.
In the dimly lit room of Dumbledore Manor, Albus Dumbledore, often regarded as an emblem of unwavering strength, now stood cloaked in the shadow of grief, his heart heavy with the weight of loss and uncertainty.