Show Me Your Colours

"Goodnight, Adele."

I hear a soft reply as I turn and head back towards the school. The night is not particularly chilly but I pull my cloak closer around me. It's a full moon tonight: there are hardly any whisps of cloud, so the silver glow lights up the houses and shops almost as brightly as if it were day. It's so beautiful.

Strange that I can actually appreciate that at this moment in time. A minute ago I just wanted to kick something ... In fact, I've felt like that all day.

Damn Tom Riddle.

No ... damn me and my own bloody feelings.

I think it's a good thing I have not mastered Legilimency yet, otherwise I would be sorely tempted to use it on - ah - certain students. And then I may find out something I would rather not have known.

On the other hand, if I had mastered Legilimency, I would have a better chance of convincing people that Tom was behind last term's events. I know he was, but there's no proof at all. Even Armando will not take my word for it, and if he won't, who else will?

Mind you, even having Riddle expelled wouldn't solve all my own problems. I am still a ninety-six-year-old bachelor with an unfortunate - what's that word young people use nowadays? - crush on a sixteen-year-old girl, who just happens to be my favourite pupil. And to add insult to injury, Armando's figured it out and wants to have a Nice Long Talk.

As if I didn't have enough on my plate. This sort of thing is long overdue - about eighty years overdue - and he picks now to start.

I am not bitter. I am just frustrated with the world.

"Albus!"

Oh, now what?

"Evening, Aberforth."

My brother comes skidding up to me. Literally skidding - the path is muddier than he expected. Now my best robes are splattered.

This is not my day.

"I just got this," he waves an official-looking letter at me. "It's addressed to A. Dumbledore, but it looks like it's for you."

"Give it to me," I snap, snatching it. Aberforth blinks, obviously taken aback. "Who is it from?"

"The Ministry, I think."

You think? Argh. I think I'm the only one in the family with the slightest ounce of common sense.

Dear Professor Dumbledore -

"It is for me."

"Oh, I thought so."

What was I saying about common sense?

I read the Ministry letter quickly and groan again. This is definitely not my day.

"What do they want this time?"

"You don't want to know."

-----

"Well?" Armando asks the moment I step into my rooms.

"I'm having a bad day," I mutter darkly, throwing the crumpled Ministry letter on my desk and moving towards the wardrobe.

"She refused?"

Not much chance of that, as I didn't actually ask her. "No."

He looks up from a copy - my own copy, I might add - of Transfiguration Today and sees my face. "Ah ... I see."

There isn't really a reply to that, so I just pull off my robes and move towards the bathroom.

"Albus?"

"Yes?"

"Why didn't you ask her?"

It's harder to hear him with the shower running, but I can guess what he said easily all the same. "Because."

"Albus."

I groan. I have a feeling aforementioned Nice Long Talk is starting.

"She's not my type."

Actually, that's not strictly true. Out of all the women I've met in the last few months, Adele is probably the one I would mind least spending the rest of my life with. At least we have similar interests, and she's friendly and very sweet. But I couldn't bring myself to do it.

"Albus!"

I poke my head around the curtain. "Armando, do you mind?"

He grudgingly turns around but continues to speak. "Albus, you have mere months before the Ministry's deadline. You need to make up your mind, soon, or you'll end up married to someone you've never met and probably will never get on with."

"I know. I'm working on it."

"Albus -"

"Armando, I'm not sixteen anymore!" I snap before I can help myself.

"You think I don't know that?" he half-shouts back. "I'm aware that time has passed, Albus - a lot of time - and I'm trying to make up for that! I know I can't change the past but I'm thinking about the future, for all of us! The least you could do is co-operate for once!"

Maybe I'm not the only one around here with issues. The thought is somewhat comforting.

"I'm coming out," I warn him. "Turn around."

"We'll talk about this later, Albus," he promises softly before leaving the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

I sigh and lean my head against the cool wall. He's right. I need to stop being stupid and get on with what I need to do, if I don't want to end up forced into an arranged marriage.

The bloody Ministry. It seems to be their main goal to interfere with the personal lives of anyone who appears even once in the newspapers.

I'm beginning to wish I never did any of the things that made me a celebrity. I never wanted to be famous, it's too much trouble. I hate it.

But I hate being ninety-six more.

I should have settled down with a woman long ago, instead of pursuing books and alchemy. That way, I wouldn't have the Ministry on my back now, and I might not be suffering a severe backlog of teenager-like emotions.

Who am I kidding? Not even myself anymore.

I think Armando still thinks of me as the sixteen-year-old he left behind, even if he doesn't realise it. He expects I'm just going through a phase. So did I, but I know better now.

'Crush' is not the right word to use anymore. It's more than that. And there's not a damned thing I can do to change it!

TBC ...