Unknown Past, Uncertain Future

(started January 19, 2004)

He could feel the life in him slipping steadily, slowly away with each ragged breath he took. He had lived a good life, he decided; he had contributed greatly to society, and people weren't soon to forget his achievements. During his lifetime, many had called him the greatest wizard of modern times, and not unjustly. He had, after all, defeated the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and helped to create, and destroy, the Philosopher's Stone with Nicholas Flamel.

Yes, Albus Dumbledore decided, he had lived a good life.

He slowly opened his eyes and surveyed the scene around him. To Dumbledore's right were the remaining Weasley family; Arthur and Molly were laying back on the sofa, on either side of Fred, hugging him tightly; George had been lost in the battle; Bill, Charlie, and Percy were sitting on the floor, backs against the wall, the heads of the latter two on Bill's shoulders, and Bill resting his head upon Percy's.

At the foot of Dumbledore's bed stood Healer Augustus Pye, who had been a Trainee Healer when Arthur Weasley had been bitten by the snake almost three years ago. With him was a new Trainee Healer, a confident young woman named Dessa Kirkpatrick. They were standing closely, talking quietly over what must have been Dumbledore's chart; the looks on their faces weren't optimistic.

Professor Minerva McGonagall was the closest, asleep in the chair to the left of the bed. Even as she slept, there was a sort of regal, austere mien about her sternly-etched facial features. Dumbledore's wrinkled face broke into a very faint smile. She shifted and Dumbledore's blue eyes fell upon the great lash on her cheek that Antonin Dolohov had given her during the final battle; his smile faded. How could anyone want to hurt her?

Behind her, lying stiffly on a conjured trundlebed, was Harry Potter, his eyes closed as if asleep also; but Dumbledore could tell by his rigidity that he was in fact alert, probably listening to every word that the Healers said. How could one expect him to sleep now? thought Dumbledore. Voldemort may be gone, along with many of his Death Eaters, but he just lost his two best friends in that battle. Dumbledore closed his eyes again and said a brief prayer for the two teenagers and all the others who had been lost throughout the entire ordeal, which in fact spanned about two decades.

Curled at the foot of Harry's trundlebed, Dumbledore observed when he opened his eyes again, was Ginny Weasley, her head resting on Harry's knees, her chest rising and falling slowly as she dozed heavily. Her face was streaked with dried tears, which led Dumbledore to believe that she had cried herself to sleep. And who could blame her? Her brother is gone, and her best friend with him. If only I could stay with her a bit longer . . .

If only I could stay with them all a bit longer . . .

Feeling his time slipping unmercifully away with each second, Dumbledore decided to make his consciousness known to them, so he cleared his throat as loudly as he could. He saw Harry instantly jerk upright, his green eyes trained intensely on Dumbledore; Ginny was startled awake by Harry's sudden movements and sat up also; Minerva opened her eyes wearily and smiled slightly at Dumbledore; the Healers glanced at him piteously, then brought their heads back together, as though deciding what exactly to tell Dumbledore about his condition; the three Weasley boys on the floor were woken by Fred's quick kicks to each of their knees; neither Arthur nor Molly had to heart to chastise him.

Minerva was the first to speak. "How are you feeling, Albus?" She brushed back the white hair on his forehead and smiled gently.

"As well as can be expected," Dumbledore replied, his soft chuckle turning quickly into a cough.

By the time he had composed himself, the Healers had looked up and seemed ready to announce something. Every eye in the room turned to them, anxious for the news.

Healer Pye held Dumbledore's chart up to his chest and cleared his throat before speaking, addressing Harry, Minerva, and the Weasleys in turn.

"I'm afraid the news that we are obligated to share is not good news. Professor Dumbledore sustained serious injuries in the battle, injuries that we here at St. Mungo's are not equipped to treat properly. From our observations, we have gathered that the curse that was inflicted upon him was a variant of the Cruciatus Curse. While the original Cruciatus Curse is a concentration of intense pain that can quickly lead to derangement, this version, sometimes called the Dolor Tractius Curse, is characterized by a slow, gradual affliction of pain that ends ultimately in death. We predict he has a week, maybe two, left. I'm -- sorry."

Pye touched Dessa's shoulder and the two left respectfully as those around Dumbledore reacted to the news. Molly grasped onto Arthur and sobbed into his shoulder, and Arthur himself had tears streaming down his face. Bill had risen and sat now on his mother's other side, patting her back, trying to remain strong for her. Fred sat, disbelieving, on the floor next to Charlie and Percy, who both looked terrified at the thought of losing someone they respected so highly. Minerva was holding Dumbledore's hand, her eyes lowered as tears fell onto the bedsheets. Ginny had launched herself in Harry's arms and mirrored her mother's sobbing. Harry sat, holding her and looking at the wall opposite him, his face quite expressionless.

Dumbledore himself was not so much surprised or saddened by the news; he had known that his time was drawing to a close as he had looked into Lucius Malfoy's cold, gray eyes as the Death Eater had delivered the eventually-fatal curse; he had even felt a little remorse as he, Dumbledore, had killed Malfoy on the way to the ground, reeling from the curse.

"F-f-first Ron and H-Hermione, now Dumbled-d-dore!" wailed Ginny from Harry's arms. "Why?"

At hearing Ginny's outburst, Dumbledore finally felt it was time to tell them everything. There was so much they didn't know, things they probably wouldn't believe when he did tell them, things that still didn't quite make sense to Dumbledore himself. But there was no denying it any longer, not after what he had seen occur in the final battle.

"Ron! Hermione! Look out behind you!" Harry looked over from the Death Eater he had just incapacitated and saw Bellatrix Lestrange approaching the two from behind.

The two turned around, wands raised, but not quickly enough; Bellatrix sent two jets of green light, one after the other, both of which hit their targets. Looks of horror appeared on Ron's and Hermione's faces, and Harry was prepared to go catch them when they fell, then take out Bellatrix for killing two more people he loved; but in the next second, they had disappeared.

Harry froze, staring, then quickly mobilized, knocking the female Death Eater to the ground with his next spell.

Dumbledore knew what spell Bellatrix has cast upon Ron and Hermione, all too well; it had been placed on him some time earlier. He knew exactly what had happened to Ron and Hermione, but he hadn't been able to tell anyone, until now.

He struggled to sit more upright in his bed, and once this was accomplished, he called everyone in the room to sit closer, so he could relate his story without having to talk too loudly. Once everyone was settled, Dumbledore began the tale.

***

I was adopted, Dumbledore said, when I was about eighteen years old. Now, that may sound odd, being adopted as a legal adult, but at the time, I was alone in a strange world, and I had no one and nothing; no home, no friends, no money. All I had were the clothes on my back and the wand in my hand. I found this nice family by the name of Dumbledore, who had one son, Aberforth. I met Aberforth at a pub late one night, and we began talking. He said that he was sure that his family would be willing to take me in as their son. And indeed they did. So I took the name of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

Back in my youth, I was much as I am now: tall, slender, long nose, but I had auburn hair that was cropped fairly short. I also had quite a sweet tooth, but, unfortunately, there was a much more limited array of sweets that were available at the time. One had to settle mainly for Chocolate Frogs and Licorice Wands in London back in the 1860s.

In my spare time, when I wasn't reading up on this or that, I loved to challenge Aberforth or anyone else who would to a game a wizard chess. I was quite good; I hardly ever lost. In fact, the few weeks before I met Aberforth, that was how I made some money, by challenging people to a game of wizard chess and betting on myself. The most I ever accumulated, however, was seven Galleons, twelve Sickles, and four Knuts. Needless to say, that wasn't much to live on.

When I was about twenty-one, I thanked the Dumbledore family for their great hospitality and went off on my own. I had grown so much more mature in those three short years; they had taught me responsibility and that there are those out there worth fighting for. That's not to say that I'd had a particularly awful childhood; I didn't. I had had a loving family, great friends, and a superior education at Hogwarts. But due to circumstances beyond anyone's control, I had been separated from them, and that's how I'd ended up in London, alone.

Anyway, I began travelling across Europe, my trusty wand at my side and the comfortable clinking of gold in my pocket. I began to pick up languages as I travelled, so I could soon communicate almost fluently with witches and wizards in Italy, France, Germany, and other places. I made contacts with the giants, goblins, and others, and I started to make a reputation for myself as a gifted negotiator.

Some time later, I became greatly interested in alchemy and read every book on the subject that I could get my hands on. I sought out Nicolas Flamel, and he took me on as an apprentice. He had already begun work on the Philosopher's Stone, but he recruited my assistance. We eventually perfected it. My list of accomplishments began to grow.

Soon, I made my way to Scotland, to visit Hogwarts and see if the school was in need of an extra hand. I arrived about five years after I had set out from London and found the grand old castle exactly as I had remembered. I made my way to the Headmaster's office and banged the griffin knocker. The voices that I had heard inside stopped, and a shuffling of robes was followed by the opening of the door. Headmaster Armando Dippet greeted me, saying that he had heard stories about this strange young man who knew giants and goblins and Nicolas Flamel. He ushered me inside and introduced me to a young woman who had just applied for the position of Arithmancy professor.

This young woman turned out to be an old friend of mine from before those unfortunate circumstances that tore me away from my family and the life I had known.

"Albus Dumbledore," said Dippet, "meet Minerva McGonagall."

The looks on both of our faces must have been quite comical, for Dippet chuckled heartily.

"I take it you two know each other." We simply nodded.

When the two of us overcame the initial shock, we embraced fiercely. I had fancied her almost from the moment I had met her, when we were both first-years at Hogwarts, and I hadn't forgotten about her after we were separated. I was flooded with the familiar warmth I felt everytime I was near her.

After our reunion, Minerva and I went to the Three Broomsticks and caught up over a couple of butterbeers.

"So, what have you been up to . . . Albus?" She smiled knowingly.

I reached over and took her hand. "Well . . . Minerva . . . "And told her what I had been doing the past five years. As I wove my tale, her eyes gradually grew larger and wider. When I finished, she just sat back in her chair, speechless for a moment.

"Well, I'm quite impressed. You're living up to everything I knew you could be. I'm proud of you."

You don't know how good it felt to hear that from her. In school, I had always felt overshadowed by her brilliance. She had been a very studious young woman, always had her nose in a book. She had admonished me countless times for not doing my homework. To finally hear those words -- I'm proud of you -- from her was music to my ears.

Over the years, I did many admirable things. I discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood, as you well know, and I defeated the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945. But I did neither of those things alone; Minerva was by my side through it all, as well as many other faithful people, many of whom have lost their lives for the cause.

***

Dumbledore stopped his tale for the evening, as it was growing late and everyone present was tired. No longer feeling obligated to maintain their vigil, the Weasleys and Harry left, wishing Dumbledore and Minerva a good evening.

Once they had gone, Minerva turned to Dumbledore and took his hand again, kissing his papery cheek gently.

"When are you going to tell them?" she asked.

He smiled. "When the time is right, they will know."

Satisfied, Minerva stood to leave Dumbledore so he could get some rest. She stopped at the door and looked back, but he was already snoring softly.

"Good night . . . " Her mouth formed another word, but her voice trailed off, and the rest of what she said was unheard.

After exiting St. Mungo's, Minerva decided to walk back to number twelve, Grimmauld Place. During the final battle, which had occurred on the Hogwarts grounds, the castle had been severely damaged and was practically unliveable. The Hogwarts staff had relocated to the former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, the family home of the late Sirius Black. After the death of Sirius, the last Black family heir, the manor had passed down to Harry, who insisted that the entire staff take up residency there until Hogwarts could be repaired.

Pulling her emerald green cloak tightly around her to fend off the coolness of the early morning -- she could already smell the scent of fall in the crisp air -- Minerva fought back tears. She had known that this day would come eventually, but now that it had come, she wasn't ready. She didn't want to let him go, not now that it was all finally over. After all these long years of careful actions and thorough planning, it had come down to this, and because of a pompous coward.

Damn you, Lucius Malfoy! she thought savagely, shoving her icy hands into her cloak pockets and gripping her wand tightly, as if she were about to draw it and cast a vicious spell on him. Then she remembered that he was already dead, at the hand of the man who was now slowly dying because of him. Feeling at least partially vindicated by this fact, she released her wand and wiped at the warm tears now flowing down her cheeks.

Once she reached number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Minerva silently let herself into the old manor and carefully began to climb the stairs. On the second floor platform, however, she encountered Remus Lupin, who was sitting on the window ledge at the end of the hall, observing the waxing three-quarter moon gloomily. At sensing her on the stairs, Remus turned and smiled wearily.

"How is he?"

Minerva traversed the hallway, looked out into the sky, and saw the faint line of brightness at the horizon: dawn. "The Healers say he doesn't have much longer, a week, two at the most." Her eyes never left the horizon.

Remus looked at her and placed a gentle hand on her arm. "I'm so sorry, Minerva."

She turned her head and smiled gratefully at him, placing her hand on top of his. "Thank you, Remus." She glanced down at her wrist as though checking the time, though she wore no watch, and said, "I should be getting some sleep. I'll want to return to St. Mungo's in the morning. You may come along, if you like. I'm sure Albus will appreciate the company."

Remus nodded. "I shall. It would do me good to get out of this place before I have to start the Wolfsbane next week."

"I'll be leaving about noon."

"I'll be ready. Good night, Minerva."

"Good night, Remus."

She left him on the window ledge and went to her room on the next floor up. Once in bed, she buried her face in her pillow and sobbed.