The room was dark and cold, shadows creeping around her, twisting about her legs in an iron grip.
"Come little Harriet, come to me." A voice rasped from the darkness, echoing around her, making her whimper as the stench of rotting flesh surrounded her in a crush.
"I can give them back to you." The voice whispered in her ear, freezing her immobile as the invisible grip on her legs yanked her to her knees, splitting them open on the cold stone floor.
"You aren't real." She murmured to herself, slamming her hands over her ears, shaking her head wildly. "You aren't real."
"Am I not? Then how am I here?" The voice chuckled inside of her head, making her
eyes widen. "How can I whisper to you?"
"You're not real. You're not real!"
Plain blistered in her hands, blood oozing from between her fingers, running down her face and neck as she clamped them harder against her head.
"If I'm not real, then how can I -"
"Miss Aster!" A voice yelped at her, making Aster's eyes snap open, and bolt upright from the armchair.
Breathing rapidly, she roved her eyes over the sight of the lounge with relief, before landing on Eppy who's ears were folded back and wringing her eyes.
"Is Miss Aster OK? Yous were whining."
"I'm - I'm alright, Eppy." She replied breathlessly, closing her eyes in a long blink before opening them again to see Eppy looking like she didn't believe her.
"Yous were crying in your sleep. Yous never cries." She gently scolded, shuffling closer to the girl.
Aster's lip wobbled, "I'm - I'm just s-so tired." She sobbed, burying her face in her hands before a face full of House-Elf launched at her, somehow managing to pull Aster into her lap and rock her. Aster clung to her, gasping for breath as she silently sobbed, soaking both of them in her tears.
"The, the nightmares w-wont stop." She whispered in stilted murmurs, making
Eppy clutched her tighter, running her hand over the girl's messy hair, watching as her two Guardians observed her with sad eyes.
Without warning there was an overwhelming symphony of smashing, as glass from every inch of the room splintered a part as the girl screamed silently into the crook of Eppy's neck. The surge of Magic swirled around them into an angry inferno, engulfing them in a whirl of Dark, Other and Light, choking the girl further as one tried to dominate the other. The invisible flames crackled higher, hotter and more until -
"Hunaf." Aster slumped, the purgatory of Magic collapsing at the low command. Eppy looked up at her Master's voice, relaxing as the Magic fell away into nothingness, taking in his worn features
and strained expression as he took in the form of his slumbering granddaughter.
"She had the bad dreams again, Mister Master."
"How bad?" He asked as he stepped over the broken glass, shards crunching under his boots. "Actually, forget I said that. It's rather obvious." He dryly continued, bending down to pick Aster up into his arms.
He carried her to her room, tucking her in tightly, once Eppy changed her into her pajamas. Sitting on the edge he brushed away the hair off her face and the tears that leaked through, despite the forced slumber he enforced.
"To think, so much power resides in this tiny girl. Someone whom most overlook for her size, her age, her gender, even her thrice damned lineage. One man would give the universe for what she has." He caressed her face, before holding her hands tightly. "I'd give up the whole universe just for her."
No reply came as Eppy stood to the side, plaiting spare ribbons she found, as Jospo shuffled into the room bearing a clay vase of wildflowers he picked from the garden and forest.
Nothing was said as he gently placed it on her bedside, making sure all flowers were arranged in the exact way he wanted.
For most of the night, the three of them sat in vigil, Ifan never letting go of her, while Eppy sat on the floor, allowing Binky to sitin her lap, Jospo remaining standing to the side of the room, overseeing the entrance to the room as well as his Mistress. No harm would come to his family. Not if he could do anything about it.
-
Albus always found himself back at Hogwarts, no matter the time of year. September through June he was bound by duty to do so, being guardian to a thousand or more students. The holidays had less sway, having the option to celebrate privately and then reappear every other day for appearances, yet Albus had never done so, not if he could help it.
As a boy he had found himself too good for the groaning centuries old cottage that sat on the outskirts of a historic village;
someone with his intellect and magical abilities were worthier of far more grander homes. This was encouraged by a wayward adolescence, buoyed from illicit young love shown to him by an even more arrogant peer. As the romance died, as those of power often do, so did his supercilious attitude, but by then, it was too late. Far too late.
His adulthood was plagued by the ghosts of his past, and of his family. Long blonde hair and high childish laughter echoed in his rooms, even now, decades after the fact. He'd hear a creak at the door and hear, "Albie, I had another nightmare", only to turn and see nobody there, no whisper of bright blue eyes.
He'd visit Hogsmeade and hover outside of the door to a grubby pub, only to turn away again and go to the more acceptable one.
He had many regret, perhaps more than he should have, despite his great age. He regretted...so many things; his arrogance, his prejudices, and his own thrice damned pride. And, strangely enough, he never regarded Hogwarts as somewhere that he should be wary of, like his childhood home in a nondescript village he hadn't lived in for decades.
But, there was a reason it was a cliche to call Hogwarts home; almost everybody who studied there would call it thus. It was a refuge from those of neglectful homes, a sanctuary for those who lived for the hidden cracks to squirrel away from others, and a place of posturing for students who, like him, believed he was the top of their world, destined for
greatness. Of course, some would say he was right; he did defeat a major Dark Wizard, keen to reign supreme, and to follow that up by becoming the nightmare of another Dark Lord. Yet, those were not his greatest achievements - to be proud of, yes, but no more - as he found the simpler life of professor and school master far more rewarding. Though, again, he was not far from folly during his time here.
His bias to those in the Green House had plagued him until too recently, only being rectified when a slew of Slytherin alumnus flocked to opposed Voldemort, though only a couple actually joined the Order. And, strangely enough, it wasn't even Severus' own sacrifice that made him realised his prejudices, but that of the Healers who flouted the rules so that they could come to their aid. It was the
bereaved family members who howled as their loved ones were cut down for not joining in the fight. It was the students who frowned at their classmates when slurs were bandied about, who hesitated to spout the Pureblood Agenda.
In all, it was the unknown people, those unremarkable in their feats, yet extraordinary in their defiance, no matter how small.
As he leaned back in his chair, running a hand down his beard he lost himself in a daze as he relived the astonishment he felt as Aster Potter was welcomed into Slytherin, smiling as he recalled the indignation of Minerva as they ate, and Severus'...tension. After the feast he had spoken to the Hat, curious over his choice, that small niggling distrust of Slytherin
remaining, worried that she would be swayed to the Dark, pressured into the beliefs of her peers.
"If the girl is to succeed, she needs first to flounder." The Hat had replied with a sneer (it was always fascinating seeing how it could even give the impression of expressions).
"And what if she only rises to succeed as an Heir of Tom Riddle?"
"Then she still has succeeded. I decide on where it is best for the student, not the World." It had huffed at him, shuffling in irritation on the shelf.
"It does not bother you, then, that we could have another obliteration of Magical blood?"
"The key word there, Dumbledore, is could. The child could become worse than Riddle ever did, or she may become the antithesis of him."
"You think that's possible, then, in Slytherin?"
"Why not? Being surrounded by the rhetoric and it's impact in much closer detail may help her realise the rot within society. And her ambition will allow the desire to be the opposite. Besides, if she was introduced into a society that was more optimistic, she may have been a Lion. With the Circle, Sphere - whatever it's called - about, she needs to culture her cunning." It sniffed at him, "brash Gryffindor actions has passed its time. As you well know." It warned darkly, before
falling silent again.
The Hat had given him much to think about over the course of the year, and watching her on Samhain as she thoughtfully placed a flower on Arianna's grave merely because she saw him visiting her, still stuck with him. Knowing now what she had been subjected to for the past decade under the care of her aunt filled him with shame. Perhaps the Hat was correct; his actions may have helped in a different society, a different timeline, but not now, not here. As was the case for raids and battles. Now they fought underground, Severus catering his status in the Circle, Arthur Weasley making use of his jovial personality to find out snippets from the Ministry, and he himself keeping an eye on Caleb Fawley, not that that gave much light to a situation.
And to top it all off, Severus had only just told him of the night he had, how he was getting curious, needing to know more of Aster and the details of Quirinus' demise, and the knowledge he already had of the incident.
Albus sighed, rubbing his forehead as he thought, idly petting Fawkes when he perched on the arm of the chair.
There were days when he wished he had the ability to not overly care, like Aberforth, let others take the charge of the safety of Wizarding Britain. He was well over a century now, and he could little remember a time when he wasn't preparing for something big; be it correcting the world and showing his power (he hesitated to use the term world domination as it didn't quite fit what he wanted), to preparing
against Gellert, and then against Tom. He was tired, his bones ached something fierce, the Dark Magic that had been a recurring factor in his youth and his own experimentation to understand leaving its own indelible mark. There were times where he sat in silence, staring into the night, or the fire, imagining what his life could have been, be it darker or lighter. He wished to rest, but that wasn't possible. Not now, not yet.
Perhaps I could have a terminal curse placed upon me, he thought with idle amusement, imagining the revelry that would occur in the Circle along with the dismay of Tom not being there to see it.
His thoughts were interrupted as Minerva came into the room, her lips in a pressed line so thin they could barely be seen. He
wasn't ashamed to admit that when she looked like that he made her nervous. It wasn't for nought that he placed her as his Deputy, in both Hogwarts and in the Order, though many didn't realise the latter. The last time she looked like this he turned her into a flamingo. Apparently he was flamboyant enough and dumb enough for it to be his Animagus form if he ever deigned to try.
He shifted in his seat. He really didn't want to be an animal again.
"Minerva, how can I help you? Shouldn't you be in Ireland exploring the methods of the Old Ways?" He asked genially, smiling a little and putting emphasis on his twinkling eyes.
"Lockhart, Albus! Lockhart, I cannae think
of what you were thinking in this. Or perhaps you weren't thinking at all!"
"Well -"
"Haud yer wheesht, I'm talking!" Albus dutifully shut up, trying his hardest to not look like a scolded schoolboy. It was times like this he was glad she didn't teach him as she did Severus. Though the younger man seemed to be more or less indifferent to her temper now.
"The man is a total eedjit! At least have Severus have a go as part time if you're that desperate!"
"You know that's not possible, Minerva. We need Serverus as a Potions Master, and not victim to the curse on the position. Despite Fawley being a recurring member of staff."
With a put upon sigh she sat down, staring at him before nodding her head. "I suppose you're right. But my point still stands - Gilderoy Lockhart is not an option. He'd do more harm than good."
"Unfortunately the country is running out of Masters in Defence who are available to teach."
"Aye and the man has only an honorary title. He never did the course." She retorted quickly.
"You know that's not possible, Minerva. We need Serverus as a Potions Master, and not victim to the curse on the position. Despite Fawley being a recurring memberof staff."
"And how do you hope to rectify this come next year? If they're so thin on the ground?"
Albus sighed deeply, rubbing at his temple. "That I'm yet to figure out. Maybe I can scurry some people into speed Master rank."
Minerva rolled her eyes. "With this government, anything could be done. Including forgery, it seems." She paused for a moment before calmly addressing him again. "There's still time for more people to apply. Why accept him now?"
"Because he was the only other applicant bar Severus. Understandably with the history of the position. And if I delay too long Caleb or his...associates may interfere."
"Well as long as you're aware of his incapability."
Albus chuckled, "Believe me, if I don't now, I will by the time Severus, Filius or Pomona find out."
Minerva grinned maliciously at the thought, especially at the remarks that Pomona would whip out underhandedly. Severus could cut someone to the core with his temper and words, yet there was something wholly fascinating in how Pomona and Filius could eviscerate the unsuspecting.
-
A/N: I 100% believe Dumbledore is scared of McGonagall, and will die on this rock.