Wait for Me

Prologue: Dumbledore's Trials

Twenty-five years ago...

Albus Dumbledore politely hid a yawn behind his napkin as he pretended to blot treacle tart crumbs off his beard. He made a mental note NOT to hold staff meetings in the North Tower again, watching old Professor Finns nod into his teacup and Minerva McGonagall's eyes water despite her incessant blinking. Everyone else merely had a far-away, distant look on their faces - except for Sibyll Trelawney, that was. Hogwarts' new Divination teacher didn't seem the least bit bothered by the dim, headachy yellow lamps, or the stuffy air, perfumed with a powdery scent that reminded Dumbledore of his old great-aunt Trudy. Oh no, Miss Trelawney showed no signs of slowing down or, better yet, ending her report on the latest Divinatory gathering in Transylvania last month, until...

"Ohhhhhh!!!!" came the exaggerated sound from the far corner of the table, breaking off Sibyll's monologue abruptly. She craned her neck to see who her interrupter was, and the rest of the table stirred for the first time in ten minutes.

"Ahhhh, excuse me, I'm sure!" Patrick Handelai finished his enormous yawn. "Haven't a clue what came over me, my apologies," he said to Trelawney with a slight smirk. "Please go on."

Dumbledore sighed and straightened as best he could in his overstuffed chair (beige with large pink and yellow flowers). It was past time for the meeting to end, and for that he silently thanked the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor - although he could have been a touch more subtle, he added to himself. Aloud, he said, "Thank you, Sibyll, for your most illuminating report. Now I-"

"But..." she started, misty eyes behind huge glasses confused and far away all at once.

"I'm sure all of us with questions will keep you busy after the meeting is over," Dumbledore said kindly. Madam Pomfrey looked down to hide her smile while Ezekiel Hardbottle made no attempt to hide it at all, his messy lilac-tinted locks shaking with laughter.

"NOW," the old wizard continued regardless, giving Hardbottle a mild look over his spectacles, "before we end our conference -"

The sound of a chair falling over made everyone look up, squinting to pierce the dim cloudy air. Sibyll Trelawney was swaying slightly; the chain on her glasses was swaying every so gently and her face was utterly blank, eyes closed.

"Sybill?" Madam Pomfrey said worriedly, half-rising from her chair. The other professors seemed frozen to their seats. Dumbledore merely watched interestedly, with a touch of concern. All at once, Professor Trelawney's eyes opened and a strange, almost deep voice issued from her normally dreamy mouth...

"She is coming! She is coming! The girl-child is born to pureblood phoenixes...Take not her twin, take not the many yet to come, for it is she who must fight

the final battles against the coming enemy...two instead of one there will be...it is she who will show the sinner redeemed and the savior revealed out of their darknesses for the world's sake...her music will break the death eaters, her dances will blind them, her thought will burn them...she is coming. She stays in secret until her powers unfold, or the realm of magic is as dust...the Dark Wizard knows not...he must not know until she chooses to reveal herself...take the babe and keep her secret lest her kin die with her...let her music be the guide..."

Professor Trelawney blinked slowly, looked around and seemed surprised that the whole room was looking at her in shock. The sound of heavy breathing from many throats reached Dumbledore's ears, and he saw Handelai swallow repeatedly, his hands fiddling with a golden charm around his neck. He saw this, and still he repeated the professor's prophecy - for it could be nothing else - in his mind over and over, committing it to memory and later his Pensieve.

Dumbledore stood slowly, the rustling of his deep purple robes the only sound. His half-moon spectacles gleamed as he looked at each teacher sitting at the table, as well as Professor Trelawney, who now had a hand to her stomach looking a little ill.

"What has been said here today must not leave this room," he said into the deepening silence. So Voldemort was the Dark Wizard...so it was out in the open at last...

"What we have so desperately hoped for is coming to pass, my friends. Not today, not for years to come - but the fact remains, a prophecy is waiting to be fulfilled. I shall expect everyone's full cooperation in this matter. Agreed?"

The murmurs in the affirmative rippled around the table, some nodding emphatically, others looking inward in troubled thought. Professor Hardbottle's hands, unawares to him, were trembling as they lay on the table.

"On that note, let us adjourn. Never forget this day. Help comes, my friends...watch and wait."

Dumbledore smiled, and that seemed to be the signal to leave. One by one, the teachers climbed silently down the stepladder and returned to their respective houses and dormitories. Only Minerva McGonagall remained behind, as did Sibyll - these were her apartments, after all.

The Transfiguration teacher simply looked at him. There were really no words to be said, not until what had been uttered could be sorted through and digested. But then she quietly said, " I know who it's got to be, Headmaster," with a quick look at Sibyll, who was still transfixed in the middle of the room.

"Oh Albus," her mouth quivered painfully, "it can only be Arthur and Molly Weasley's child. They were expecting a boy...and a girl."

Dumbledore's shoulders slumped, and he sighed almost imperceptibly. Why did it have to be them? his mind whispered.

"I will go see them soon, Minerva, and arrange everything -"

"It has to be now!" she interrupted, most unusual for the dignified woman. Her eyes shone with tears as she added, "- before they get too attached, you know..." With a little sob she turned and went hurriedly down the ladder, tartan skirts swishing.

The wizard turned to look at the source of all the mayhem before leaving, and her eyes seemed to gleam in the near-dark. She still said nothing, but hugged herself almost unconsciously. At last, Dumbledore said heavily, "Thank you, Sibyll," and he too left.

The Divination professor sank to her knees in exhaustion. The lamps winked out as her eyes closed. And in the dark, her voice said sleepily, "But will she be able to save us? If her inward pain won't end, what then..." and she trailed off into sleep. On her desk, the solar system glittered endlessly.

Dumbledore strode down the halls much faster than anyone seeing his long white beard would have supposed he could. Down stairs, up more; across a corridor where old portraits of Hogwarts professors snored in their frames; past the stairs leading to Gryffindor House, the red-gold hangings on either side gleaming faintly even in the dark.

He heard low voices in the corridor ahead - ah, Potter and Black, of course they would be up at this late hour. The boys appeared from around the corner and gaped, conversation cut off.

"Good evening James, Sirius - or is it morning?" Dumbledore said mildly. Really, they had an exam that afternoon!

"We're sorry, Professor," James said, a little nervously but not as much as would have been years prior. Sirius nodded for emphasis and added, "We're...er...just going to bed now, sir."

Dumbledore studied them, eyes twinkling as their long teenage legs shifted back and forth, restless with energy and frustrated hormones, it would seem. He looked at James, scrubbing his hands through hair that would never, ever lay down flat -

and suddenly Sibyll's prophecy rang in his ears again...and he saw James...but not James...his face, but different...who WAS he?

He recovered quickly from the vision, and the boys hadn't seemed to notice.

"Well, go on then...don't forget to study now." All assurances and good manners, the two best friends loped down the hall and disappeared up the Gryffindor stairs.

His smile fading, Dumbledore turned and continued his journey back to his rooms. What came over me, I wonder? He hadn't had a spell like that in more years than he cared to remember, and his eyes turned inward in thought. James, but not James...what does it mean? What to do with the prophecy?...he pondered until, stopping short before the statue in front of his apartment, the knowledge blazed through him.

"His son..." he whispered aloud, "yes, his son...the sinner, or the savior..."

On the edge of his mind, more secrets shifted, roiled and boiled - a flash of dark, sullen but wondrously sad eyes - a circle of hooded figures dancing in abandon - a long white hand reaching for a smaller one, lips in a hint of a smile - joy, outstretched arms and a satisfied face watching with dark hair and bottle-green eyes - the same face standing alone against something darker than night, eyes a glowing yellow - a nimbus of blue light gathering the surrounding dark to itself, a face looking down out of the light

with eyes almost unbearably wise - eyes, everywhere eyes, and did they actually see him?

Dumbledore leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. The air seemed too thick, too oppressive. He straightened, closed his eyes and gradually his breathing returned to normal. Always thought old Rawlings was full of rot, but I'm not so sure anymore, he thought, remembering his own Divination teacher assuring the future Hogwarts headmaster of his as yet untapped abilities regarding the Eye.

A tear slipped out without warning, and suddenly a great sadness threatened to overwhelm him as he thought of all the children in his care, sleeping, studying, thinking, preparing for life beyond his protective walls.

"What will happen to you?" he said softly to the air. "What will happen to all of us?" He heard Peeves cackling faintly in the distance, and caught Sir Richard the Rusty's eyes peeking at him from under his visor on the wall across the way. He sighed, and grimaced - he seemed to be doing just that too often of late.

"Chocolate Frog," he murmured at last. The statue moved aside slowly, and he climbed the spiraling stairs, for a moment looking every one of his many years.

Dumbledore had just rung the doorbell. He looked distantly at the hand that had done it, wanting to detach the rest of his body and mind from what he had come to do. What he had to do.

He had waited almost a week despite Professor McGonagall's advice, almost too long. But he had wanted to give the Weasleys as much precious, unreversible time as possible with their new daughter. Why them? he wondered for the thousandth time, of all the people in the world...

He blinked, came out of his reverie and arranged his features in preparation for the meeting, putting unnecessary thoughts aside. What he must do...

The door opened and a very frazzled-looking Molly Madog - Weasley, Dumbledore corrected himself - appeared with a tiny bundle in her arms. Somewhere deeper in the house, he heard a few plaintive baby cries that subsided quickly.

"Professor!" Molly cried, a face made for smiling beaming up at him. "It so wonderful to see you!"

"Likewise, dear Molly," Dumbledore replied, and they hugged as best they could with a squirming baby tucked between them. He looked down, breath held...and released it just as quickly.

"So this is the boy, is it?" and the old man bent down to touch his cheek briefly. "Quite a strapper, this one."

"Why yes, Professor...I had no idea you were a hand with babies," Molly said with great amusement. "I didn't even put Billy in blue today."

"Just a lucky guess, I'm sure," Dumbledore said absently, looking around the small front room. "Is it just me, or has this place grown?" he asked as he walked over to

stroke the head of Arthur's old owl, Ringo, who was perched contentedly on what appeared to be a large coffee tin on a table. The house was slightly messy, would probably never make Witch's Weekly's Top Ten Wizard Abodes - but it had an aura of well-being, of home that was nearly impossible to achieve with money alone.

His brows furrowed in a sudden spasm of grief before he could control it, but Molly, chattering away about the new additions to the house while taking Dumbledore through the kitchen, did not notice. The counter was cluttered with bottles and boxes of formula, the impossibly cute babies pictured on the front smacking their lips in satisfaction.

Everything he saw only deepened his sadness. To lose a child...to be the one to take her from this best of homes, with unquestioning love and provision...to what?

He somehow pasted a smile back on his lips as they made their way to a fairly large room, new by the looks of it, in the back of the house. Ringo fluttered in past them and settled down on a dresser table, not wanting to be left out. A fire crackled merrily, a small device on another table played quiet music, and Dumbledore heard soft crooning coming from the rocking chair in a shadowy corner.

"Ohhhh..." Molly whispered, "he finally got her to sleep, thank Merlin-"

"No," came a tired sigh, "she just likes hearing me sing, Molly. Won't take her eyes off me, it's like a spell I tell you."

As if on cue, little grunts and grumbles began to permeate the air. Arthur Weasley sighed again, stood up out of the shadows, then grinned down at his daughter.

"Oh well, looks like it's time for another walk, love..." He paused, looked up and saw Dumbledore standing in the doorway.

"Professor, what a surprise!" he exclaimed with a carefully lowered voice as he hurried to greet the Hogwarts headmaster.

"When are you two going to stop calling me Professor, by the way?" Dumbledore teased them while shaking Arthur's hand.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll still be doing that when our own kids are with you at Hogwarts," Molly said, blushing a little. "It's been years, I know, but it would be just too strange to call you Albus!"

He dismissed it with a wave as he looked down at the little girl in Arthur's arms.

"She's so small..." his thoughts voiced aloud before he knew it.

"Yes, Miriam had a hard go of it for awhile," Arthur said, smoothing the soft red down on her head. "The doctors said she almost didn't make it, but she hung on out of sheer determination."

"Parneus Fronish said he'd never seen anything like it," Molly added proudly. "It's strange, though...William was healthy as a bull, ready to go home right away...but she was so different. I always thought first-borns were supposed to be the bigger ones...shows you I had a lot to learn, doesn't it?" she smiled up at Dumbledore.

"Indeed," he said faintly. "And now?"

"Ah, she's perfect now, not that she wasn't before," Arthur said adoringly, gazing at the tiny face. "No lasting effects, and she's starting to gain weight. She'll catch up to Billy one of these days."

"Ha!" Molly said affectionately to the other baby in her arms. "Greedy boy...she hasn't got a chance against this little scarfer."

Dumbledore closed his eyes but the imprint of the happy family wouldn't leave his mind. The reality I have to unmake...

Molly touched his arm and he looked at her concerned face.

"Professor, what's the matter? Here, sit down - Arthur, take him - let me get you some tea -"

"No!" he burst out harshly, and couldn't pause to note the shock on their faces.

"Molly, Arthur," he said more softly, "there is something you have to know. It's the reason I'm here - one of them, anyway," he finished, touching Miriam's hand.

"You know you can tell us anything, Professor," Arthur replied immediately. Merlin, he thinks this is Order business! Well, perhaps it was at that...but the little baby at the heart of this situation looked too innocent by far.

"Please sit down with me," Dumbledore said quietly, motioning to the couch next to the fireplace. The Weasleys obeyed with puzzled looks but obvious trust, which pained him even more. The soft music issuing from the radio ceased rather suddenly.

He removed a small object from his robes and placed it on the table. Arthur gave a small gasp.

"Is that a Prophecy?" he asked eagerly, eyes shining. When Dumbledore nodded, Arthur laughed aloud.

"Ha, wait'll the guys hear about this one! No one's ever gotten out any Mystery secrets until now, those ruddy snobs..."

The old wizard merely sighed. "Please watch." He pointed his wand at the clear globe, and a small representation of Professor Trelawney appeared. She opened her mouth and out issued the same strange and deep voice he had hears six nights ago, repeating the words he had long since committed to memory.

After the figure vanished, the room was silent for a moment, then Arthur grinned.

"Incredible, Professor!" he said, almost laughing with delight. "A bit of light in the darkness, eh?"

"Arthur..." Molly said slowly.

"...and how strange that she should be the one; bit of a bat, I've heard - no offense meant, of course..."

"Dear..."

"and how annoyingly vague these prophecies are! The sinner redeemed, now that could be anybody - then again, if it was easy to fulfill what would be the point?"

"ARTHUR!!!!!" Molly shook him, breathing hard. He ceased babbling and stared at her, confused.

With what seemed like slow motion, her head turned and looked at Dumbledore. Her expressive eyes posed a desperate question; he answered by closing his eyes briefly, looking down. It was enough.

"No...Merlin, no," she whispered.

"Molly?"

"Please...Professor?" she stretched out a beseeching hand. He could only look back at her, drown in the grief and anger welling in her eyes.

"What is wrong?" Arthur asked nervously, laying Billy gently on the floor so he could grip Molly's hand. He looked at Dumbledore, the all-knowing, all-powerful, for answers. He suddenly felt the need to throw up.

"It's her...the prophecy, Arthur," Molly said with a trembling voice, and almost wrenched the baby out of his arms.

"Our Miriam is the one, isn't that right Professor?"

He could only nod again. Arthur sat on the couch, his expression one of dawning horror.

"Oh no," he whispered. "No, no, no...not her."

"You can't take her, understand?" Molly suddenly shouted, leaping up and away from the two. "She's my daughter, my baby, you will not have her! You will not..."

Her voice faltered. Dumbledore had risen and followed her as she backed up against the dresser, the owl sitting there looking down at her with interest. He said nothing, he only looked at her, tried to convey his thoughts, the utter need, to her. There was nothing to say, really - only reasons that could never justify the pain.

After awhile, Molly lowered her eyes and started sobbing quietly, arms still wrapped protectively around the infant. Little Miriam had remained oddly calm through the emotional outburst, and her blue eyes were fixed on Dumbledore with a strange, almost adult seriousness.

After picking up baby Bill, Arthur joined them, shuffling like a sleepwalker.

"Molly...Arthur..." Dumbledore said at last, "if there were any other way - any at all - it would be taken. But for the sake of our world and you and yours, she must hide from Voldemort. His arm has grown long indeed these past few years...if even a whisper of a rumor of the truth reached him, you know what the result will be."

The silence lengthened, stretched painfully.

"Yes," Molly said at last, and the word seemed ripped out of her soul. Arthur's face was twisted with grief as he gently touched the baby's hand.

"Who..." he cleared his throat and began again, "where will she stay? Can we see her?"

"Not for a long time," Dumbledore said gently. They both closed their eyes, trying to deny the truth.

"But you WILL meet her again, that I promise you with all my heart. And she will be safe, under my personal protection. I shall visit her regularly and make sure all her needs and wants are met...until the day you see her again, it will be my job to protect her."

"And after that?" Arthur asked roughly.

Dumbledore smiled a little. "By that time, Arthur, she will be quite capable of taking care of herself. By that time, she will quite possibly be ready to help rid our world of the Dark Side." He moved closer to the Weasleys, fixing them with his sharp gaze.

"Never forget what your daughter is fighting for, what she was born to do. In a sense, she is already initiated into our Order, my friends, and by simply living and learning she strikes blows into the heart of all things twisted and wrong in this world. When she meets her parents..."

"You'll tell her about us?" Molly interrupted quickly, eyes wide.

"When she's old enough, of course," Dumbledore returned. "And until the time comes to reveal herself, I shall make absolutely sure she has your examples to live up to."

The silence stretched on again. Nobody looked at each other, only at the little girl, whose bright eyes were now fixed on her father.

"Arthur," Molly handed him Miriam and took the boy, "let me put Billy down." She went over to twin bassinets in a corner of the room.

The redheaded wizard cradled the baby tenderly. Tears dropped onto her face, making her blink in astonishment, and he buried his own face in her body for a long moment, shaking. He looked up, face flushed and wet, as Molly returned and reached for her.

"Professor," Arthur said, voice cracking as he let go, "she loves music, you know...especially Muggle opera...could you..."

"Of course, I shall remember," Dumbledore assured him, blinking his eyes rapidly to clear a sudden mist.

Molly stood, gazing into the infant's eyes, seeming to memorize every curve, every feature.

"My sweet girl," she whispered. "Mummy and Daddy love you so much. Remember, my lovely one. Always remember..." A sob burst out of her as Dumbledore stepped forward slowly, and carefully lifted the baby into his arms.

"She will never forget. I know it," he said quietly. "And don't you forget - you WILL be together again."

The couple nodded and clutched each other's hands, tearstained faces locked to their daughter.

"You must remember, not a word to anyone. Ever. Not even to Billy," he cautioned, "or all this is for nothing."

As if on cue, they nodded again numbly.

"Gringotts will be best for storing anything you might want to keep of hers..."

"We know," Arthur said tonelessly, right hand clenching and unclenching without his knowledge.

Dumbledore stepped back farther and their eyes widened. Molly's body shook and her hand rose to cover her mouth.

"You are two of the best and bravest I have ever had the honor to know," he said, equal parts love and sadness in his voice. " Someday soon, everyone else will know your part, your sacrifice to make this world a better place. Molly, Arthur...it is time."

"Goodbye, sweetheart," the broken whisper escaped Arthur's lips.

Ringo rose from his perch and fluttered his wings. As Dumbledore Disapparated, the Weasleys fell to their knees, still holding each other. From the previously silent radio came the languid strains of Scheherazade, strangely loud, strangely insistent...and after a small whimper from the corner, the only other sounds were two wizards and a tiny baby, crying.