Chapter 2
May you live in interesting times.
It was thought to be an old curse, but Dumbledore thought it was quite apt for his situation.
Troll and goblin rebellions, the rise and fall of the Global Wizarding War, the rise of Voldemort. Whatever happened to the calm days of yore, when the only drama was the fiery Yuletide duel due to two student actresses crossed in love?
Great men rise from troubled times. Was he a great man? The entire wizarding world seemed to think so. He had defeated the great scourge Grindlewald in a tremendous duel, but really he was just fighting with a bitter friend.
Why did it happen to turn out this way?
He pressed upwards to his sanctuary, trying to remember the password that changed every year.
Low voices sounded on the other side of the door.
Someone was meeting in his office? No, that was impossible. Everyone else would have rebounded from the protection spell around the entrance. Only Minerva had his password and the authority to enter and invite others. She was downstairs preparing her lessons, and she was quite angry with him at the moment.
"No need to alarm the entire school and the Wizengamot just because of a dream, Professor McGonagall."
"She nearly petrified the entire school body, Albus!"
"I remembered that back then it was just a random squad of giants. Perhaps a few students were petrified but none of the teachers. Have Madam Pomfrey prepare mandrakes if you're so worried."
Perhaps the portraits were speaking to each other, Dumbledore surmised.
"And everyone just goes about their day? None the wiser?"
"Yes, my Lord. It is as if they're blind to the world they live in."
There was only one person who called himself a Lord.
Taking a deep breath, he burst into the room, wand at the ready.
A boy sat at the edge of his desk, calmly conversing with the ancient Sorting Hat. In his hands spun the glittering silver sword of Godric Gryffindor. At the headmaster's entrance, the stranger stood and bowed formally.
"Professor Dumbledore, or should I say Headmaster?"
"Who… who are you?"
The boy shyly smiled. "It has been quite some time. I'm not sure if you remember."
The voice and the handsome face.
"Peter? Peter Pevensie? It can't be. You died…" The headmaster did some quick mental math. "It must have been fifty years ago! Dippet showed us the newspaper clipping." Sharp eyes ran over the tall boy. "Astonishing! You don't look a day older."
To his surprise, the figure of the 17 year old young man flickered like a ghost.
Peter ran a thumb along the ruby encrusted hilt of the sword. "We did die, Sir, in the train accident. We're in Aslan's country now, but it appears the Lion has called us to come back to your Hogwarts."
The professor spoke with a growing realization. "McGonagall told me one of my students dreamed of the White Witch, and she found a horn inside the chest. It was real? The attack all those years ago?"
Dumbledore gestured to the trunk by his desk which still entombed the small object.
The boy sighed, "She continues to curse both our worlds, and your memories. Nevertheless something is coming. I would tell you to prepare, but it seems like another evil is already here. Aslan has sent you Susan's horn to be used at one's most dire peril."
The headmaster shook his head, "And we are indeed in great danger from the Dark Lord. I'm sorry, Peter. I didn't believe Minerva. I thought that it was a coincidence that Harry was dreaming of a bird and a woman."
Peter frowned. "Headmaster Dippet wasn't believed either. It aged him. His portrait said he retired and died, alone and forgotten. We wish for you not to make the same mistakes. Trust your students. Trust your teachers."
Yes…yes. The boy was right. Harry Potter could not carry the destiny of the wizarding world upon his singular shoulders. Albus Dumbledore should not either.
His revelation was interrupted by a loud bell sounding, signaling the end of the school period. The headmaster was needed downstairs.
The golden haired boy handed the professor the legendary sword hilt first, blade flat against his arm.
"This sword is awful by the way. The balance is wrong, and the rubies make gripping the hilt impossible."
The headmaster chuckled holding the heavy item, "It is made from goblin wrought silver. Nothing is rarer."
"Perhaps a duel with Rhindon shall prove which is stronger when we come back."
"And I look forward to your return to Hogwarts, and most of all your counsel."
Before the boy vanished, Dumbledore could see before his eyes a transformation - taller, broad shouldered, lightly bearded. Even had the professor not seen the golden crown upon his head, truly he knew Peter Pevensie was magnificent.
I'm imagining Peter flickering like a ghost the same as King Tirian in The Last Battle. Thanks GamArtem for reviewing. The entire story will be uploaded a few chapters every week or so.
Please review,
Grignard
