Footprints on the Sands of Time

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

-The back of a Chocolate Frog trading card

I stepped through the fireplace cautiously, wand drawn. Nothing was going on. The classroom that I had landed in was deserted.

Good.

Wand at the ready, I sidled out into the hall. I got my bearings and sped off towards the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey was relatively new, but she was very, very good. Last year, she repaired half the Gryffindor Quidditch team after a particularly brutal match against Slytherin that almost cost one of our Chasers her eye. Madam Pomfrey's cool, collected professionalism made me respect her, and her deep-seated loyalty to Puddlemere United made me like her. I knew that Maimonides was in good hands.

I knocked on the door. "Madam Pomfrey?"

I heard a familiar, gruff voice say, "Who goes there?"

"It's Minerva McGonagall."

She said suspiciously, "Who was Puddlemere's fourth Seeker?"

I racked my brain. "Er..." And then it came to me. "Geoffrey of Paggleham."

"What's your brother's middle name?"

"Anselm."

"What's your middle name?"

I groaned. "Madam Pomfrey, don't you have a Sneakoscope or something...?"

Silence.

I leaned in closer to the door, not wanting to stay unprotected in the hall for a minute longer than I had to. "Melanthropes."

I heard a dry chuckle. "All right, Minerva. When I've got everything cleared out, you'll have approximately three seconds to get in, so step lively."

She mumbled various counterspells for a moment, and then opened the door. "Hurry up, now!" I scurried inside, and she slammed the door behind me and put back the various wards on the door. She turned away from the door and beckoned me, heading off among the many curtained cots. "I wish I could greet you in better circumstances, Minerva."

"How - how is he?"

"Out of any danger," she said briskly. "I've been giving him some fairly strong analgesics, and he's been sleeping most of the afternoon. He'll be up and around in a few days..."

I could hear her unfinished thought: If we're still around in a few days.

She pulled back a curtain and stepped around it. I followed her.

My brother's face was pale and pinched. He slept, but fitfully, with twitches and little tics. My hand came unbidden to my mouth, and I saw, with a nasty tug, that his prefect's badge sat on the stand by his bed, glinting forlornly in the soft light of the lamp, as if in posthumous - no, never that - tribute to his bravery.

Madam Pomfrey bent over him and rested the back of her hand gently on his forehead. "He's still feverish." With a soft tsk, she turned away from him. "I'm going to find something to bring down his fever." She swept out, leaving me alone with my baby brother.

There was an uncomfortable-looking chair by his bed, and I occupied it, taking his hand. It was cold, damp, and tense. The fingers flexed and trembled jerkily, and I stroked them, trying to calm them, holding back tears.

My little brother. My pompous, stiff little brother. My pompous, stiff little brother who teased me mercilessly, executed acts of espionage with panache, and faced down threats to his charges fearlessly. If I had ever wondered why he had been in Gryffindor, I had my answer now.

His already somewhat labored breathing became even more so, and I wondered about calling Madam Pomfrey. However, before I could do anything about it, his eyes blinked wide open, and he tried to sit up, looking scared out of his wits, calling out desperately, "Demetria!"

"Maimonides, it's Minerva." He looked around wildly, and I gently made him lie back. "It's Minerva. Demetria is safe." I didn't know if that was the truth, but I assumed that it was - Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have it any other way.

He took a deep breath and settled back, seeming for all the world like a frightened little boy. "Oh," he said in a small voice. "Oh."

I tried to smile at him. "How are you feeling?"

He managed to pull a long face. "Like a herd of Erumpents just ran over me."

"That bad?"

He nodded. "Have they told you what happened?"

"Theron told me, yes."

"Theron?"

"He came to fetch me - I came straight away."

Maimonides said, "So he talked to Professor Dumbledore?"

"Professor Dumbledore was the one who told Theron to come get me."

"Professor Dumbledore is all right?"

I hesitated. "As far as I know." I didn't want to tell him that Professor Dumbledore was going after Grindelwald.

He closed his eyes. "Good."

Madam Pomfrey came back with a smoking chalice. "All right, young man. Time to - "

She never got to finish her sentence. A loud explosion rocked the castle - a very loud explosion - and Maimonides yelped in pain, his bed having been shaken. Madam Pomfrey said quickly, "Minerva, I'll have to ask you to leave briefly - " and immediately began ministering to him.

I ducked out from behind the curtain and dashed to the window. I looked down and gasped.

On the grounds below, Professor Dumbledore was crumpled in a heap as a visage I remembered well loomed over him with a horrible grin. Grindelwald raised his wand high, seeming to summon strength from an unknown source -

Almost without thinking, I pulled my wand from my sleeve and aimed it at Professor Dumbledore, hissing, "Renovo!"

And I saw Professor Dumbledore grasp his wand tighter and shout, "Verbero!" Grindelwald fell back, giving Professor Dumbledore time to regain his feet and begin belaboring Grindelwald again with various hexes. I was unable to keep myself from doing a small victory dance.

A voice behind me said evenly, "Nice work."

I turned. There was a slim boy behind me - pale, dark hair, unreadable face. I recognized him. "Tom Riddle."

"Minerva McGonagall," he returned.

"What year are you now, Riddle?" There was no rhyme or reason to it, but I had never quite trusted him...

"Fourth."

Earmarked for a prefect, no doubt. And if he continued his rise in the Hogwarts ranks, he'd be the first Slytherin Head Boy in ten years.

"You're here to see your brother, I imagine," he said.

"Do you know anything about what brought him here?" I wondered why Riddle was here himself - he seemed in good enough health.

"Of course. I helped Professor Dumbledore bring him up here."

Ah. And he had to stay behind, no doubt, because nobody knew where Grindelwald was. I didn't like turning my back on him, but I wanted to see what was going on, and so I went back to the window. They were still at it - Grindelwald had recovered from Professor Dumbledore's onslaught and was blasting away.

Riddle appeared at my shoulder. "A good fight."

"If a fight like this can be termed as 'good'," I said, trying to keep a sententious tone out of my voice. Really. Slytherins were all alike.

We turned our attentions to the battle going on below us. It seemed as though Professor Dumbledore gained ground, then Grindelwald gained ground, and as time passed, Professor Dumbledore's hair got singed by a near miss from the Exterminus Hex, and Grindelwald fought hard from a sitting position due to a well-placed Jelly-Legs Curse.

They battled back and forth, Grindelwald throwing invective at Professor Dumbledore, threatening his family, saying what he'd do to his children - I grasped the windowsill hard at that, Riddle looking at me curiously - while Professor Dumbledore grimly fought on, looking for any hole to dodge through.

The whole thing only took about ten minutes, I discovered afterwards, but it seemed to last at least an hour. Grindelwald, obviously out of ideas, tried his new Cruciatus. I saw Professor Dumbledore lunge to the side, and just before the curse hit him, he launched a quick Body-Bind that Grindelwald couldn't duck due to his prone position and the strength it took to cast the Cruciatus. With a cry of horror, I helplessly watched Professor Dumbledore try to resist it, but fail.

I looked at Riddle briefly, and it was as though he watched tricks in a circus, or as if he was a child in Honeyduke's. I cast him a furious look, which he did not notice, and looked back to Professor Dumbledore just in time to see him reach out with his empty wand hand and cry desperately, "Cremo!"

There was a burst of flame that lit up the castle - I could see centaurs at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, venturing out cautiously to watch the battle, flee back into the wood - and I had to blink several times before I could look again. Professor Dumbledore had collapsed.

I flew to the door, yelling, "Finite Incantatem - Octavius Pritchard!" (Octavius Pritchard was Madam Pomfrey's favorite Beater - she used his name for every password.) The wards dealt with, I ran down the corridor, down the flight of stairs, and outside, where there was a black spot on the ground where Grindelwald's body had rested next to Professor Dumbledore, who was trying to push himself up on his elbows, letting go of something crumpled in his hand. "Professor!"

He shook his head, seeming fuddled. Those blue eyes focused, and he smiled rather foolishly. "Hello, Minerva."

"Professor, are you - "

He waved a hand weakly. "I'm fine. Just help me stand, would you?"

I attempted to help him sit up, but the aftereffects of the curse prevented that. I heard him mumble something rather inappropriate, and I hid a smile, almost giddy with relief. He said, "You'll have to use magic."

I nodded. "Mobilicorpus!" And he rose gently into the air. I prodded him along with my wand, opening doors for him, going back up the stairs and into the Infirmary. "Madam Pomfrey!"

She hurried over from behind Maimonides's curtain. "Professor!"

He blinked. "Hello, Poppy."

I interjected, "He was hit with the new Cruciatus."

She said, "Oh, my," and immediately disappeared into her stockroom, calling over her shoulder, "Minerva, stick him on the nearest bed." I did so. She bustled back out, holding a small tin.

Incredulous, I said, "Are those - "

"Lemon drops. Yes. I've been doing research - "

"With assistance from Theron," Professor Dumbledore added with a soft grunt of pain.

" - and it seems that these help the aftereffects of the new Cruciatus much like chocolate helps with the aftereffects of exposure to Dementors." She extracted one from the tin and said, "Open up, Professor." He obeyed, and she stuck a lemon drop on his tongue. After a few seconds, he relaxed and was able to stretch.

He said contentedly, "That's much better, Poppy. Much nicer than a potion."

She smiled at him. "Just suck on that for a bit, then - I'm going back to see young Mr. McGonagall." Her eyes met mine, and she said firmly, "And young Mr. McGonagall will be right as rain by tomorrow noon." A confident, warm smile shone on us both. "I'll leave the tin." And she bustled off.

Professor Dumbledore looked at me, the line of his shoulders much looser than before. I wondered if it had fully hit him that he had just defeated the world's greatest Dark wizard. "Minerva, as it's over, I should like to see Theron."

As would I, I thought, but I didn't say so.

"Will you do me a favor?"

I nodded.

"The password to my office is Devonshire cream. Go to my desk. In the top left-hand drawer, you will find a box of Fizzing Whizbees. Tap the box three times with your wand and say Illustrum Pennipotenti." I looked at him quizzically. "Theron has a Knut in his pocket that is actually a Portkey. He has been instructed to try it every ten minutes. The box of Whizbees serves as a sort of remote for the Portkey - the Portkey will not work unless the Whizbees have been activated." I nodded. It was rather ingenious. "Wait for Theron in my office. Be sure that you don't sit in my chair - that's where the Portkey will deposit him." He smiled at me and gingerly sat up in his bed. "Go on, now - I expect to be up and bothering our good Madam Pomfrey in the next ten minutes, and I'd like Theron to be here to help me." I laughed quietly and turned away from him.

But as I passed the doorway that led into the main Infirmary area, I saw Tom Riddle jump guiltily from the spot where he had been listening to Professor Dumbledore. I gave him a sharp look and continued, reminding myself to tell Professor Dumbledore at the earliest opportunity to change his password as soon as possible.

I nearly glided down the silent halls, twisting and turning, so familiar with these corridors that I could walk them in my sleep. I arrived outside Professor Dumbledore's office, gave the password, and activated the remote. I took a chair in front of his desk and waited.

A book lay open on Professor Dumbledore's desk. I craned my neck to look at it, and realized that it wasn't a book - it was a photo album. As it gave me something to do while I waited - and kept me from wondering just what Andronicus Malfoy had done to Theron to keep him from Portkeying in immediately - I picked it up.

The picture that the album showed was taken under a rose bower - white roses. From the looks of things, it was the terrace behind Weathervane. Professor Dumbledore stood, looking younger, with a laughing, raven-haired young woman holding a small child who looked adoringly up at his father. The inscription below the photograph read Albus, Mariana, and Theron Dumbledore - June 1922. Professor Dumbledore turned and plucked a small white rosebud and tucked it behind his wife's ear with a gentle smile. Mariana blushed. I smiled, going back to the beginning of the album.

I saw years unfold in front of my eyes. Professor Dumbledore and Aunt Alyce were there, dancing under an old oak tree as children. Professor Dumbledore on his graduation from Hogwarts. A beautiful picture of his and Mariana's wedding. And then, on the next page, an oaken cradle with a dark-haired baby in it. The baby's eyes were open, and they were a piercing, strangely omniscient-seeming blue. Theron Dumbledore, the inscription said.

I shook my head, snapping myself out of my mini-trance, and continued looking through the album. A picture at King's Cross, labeled Theron boarding the Hogwarts Express. He was quite obviously a first-year, looking horribly nervous - and adorable. Continuing through the pages. And then there was a picture that gave me pause - a gaunt-looking Mariana Dumbledore, trying so hard to smile and laugh for her husband. Professor Dumbledore held her hand, obviously holding back tears. They were in a room in St. Mungo's - I could tell by the white walls.

And then one last picture - or rather, a place where a picture was. The square area where the picture had been glued was darker than the paper around it, and the inscription read, Mariana, 1917.

I thought I knew where that picture had gone. I had a brief glimpse of that piece of paper that had fallen out of Professor Dumbledore's hand - it was a picture of a young woman with a beautiful smile. A smile just like Theron's. Professor Dumbledore, carrying a token of his Lady into battle. I closed the album and replaced it on his desk, feeling sad and nosy and all-around miserable.

And that was when a welcome sight fell into Professor Dumbledore's old, creaky chair, black hair mussed, eyes hardened, and quite out of breath. Theron gripped the arms of the chair, looking about him wildly. He then realized where he was and grinned - until he saw me. "Minerva! But - where's..." I saw his face grow more and more frightened, and I cut in hurriedly. "He's in the hospital wing, and he's going to be fine."

He rose from his chair and came around the desk in an absurdly small amount of steps and seized my forearms. "Dad's not - Grindelwald didn't - "

"Your father killed Grindelwald, and he's recovering quite quickly from the aftereffects of the new Cruciatus - Madam Pomfrey found a helpful palliative. He's alert, he's talking, and he wants to see you."

And Theron drew me tightly into his arms, burying his face in my neck, and all his cedar and leather scent flooded over me like an intense, all-encompassing wave, and I was hard-pressed to hold back the tears. Theron was safe. Professor Dumbledore was safe. Maimonides was safe. No more Grindelwald. Everything would be all right.

Theron raised his head and looked at me, running a trembling hand down my face, speaking as though he'd heard my thoughts. "It's all right?"

I nodded. "It's all right."

He smiled shakily. "That's...good."

I laughed. "Silly. Come to the hospital wing now - Professor Dumbledore wants to see you." We almost ran down the halls, hand in hand. It was so good to be near him again, to feel his fingers threaded through mine, to be able to see him and know that he was safe.

And as we approached the door, it was opened by Professor Dumbledore, who swept Theron into a hard embrace. I watched the two of them mistily, as did Madam Pomfrey, leaning on the doorjamb.

And as did Tom Riddle, hanging back in the shadows with an indefinable look on his face.

They broke apart. Professor Dumbledore was the first to speak. "And Andronicus Malfoy gave you no problems?"

Theron said, "It was a close thing there at the end - a good thing that Minerva activated the Portkey when she did." He sent me a look that made my knees go weak.

And there went Professor Dumbledore smiling into his moustache again. "Er...and exactly where did you lead Mr. Malfoy?"

Theron snorted. "Malfoy himself had nothing to do with it. It was those two henchmen of his, Crabbe and Goyle...they're the ones who gave me the most trouble. I let them see me in Knockturn Alley, and then from there we went to Stonehenge, and then to the Baliol cricket field in Oxford, and then to Westminster Abbey, and a watering-hole in Cornwall, and a tea shop in Edinburgh...all over. They never caught me."

"And no Muggles saw you?"

"None."

Professor Dumbledore smiled. "Excellent."

However, I wondered. The 'close thing' - what had it entailed?

Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat. "Professor?"

He turned around. "Yes?"

"If you'd like to go, I can't think of any reason to keep you here. Perhaps you'll escort young Mr. Riddle here to the Great Hall and tell everyone it's safe to come out...?"

He smiled at her. "I'll do that, then."

She handed him the tin of lemon drops. "Take one of these every hour for the next six hours, mind."

He nodded. "Of course, Poppy. Thank you." And with a last smile at me and Theron, he beckoned to Tom Riddle - Professor Dumbledore, being sharp as a tack, had not failed to notice Riddle in the corner - and they left.

Madam Pomfrey said to me, "Minerva, your brother is sleeping now, and in a lot less pain. It would be advisable to not have much disturbance - you may come back and visit him tonight."

"All right." He'd be better off asleep, and as he wasn't in any danger, there was no reason for me to stick around the place - especially since Theron was there.

The object of my thoughts smiled down at me. "I suppose we'll be off then, Madam Pomfrey."

She smiled at us. "I'll see you tonight." And then the door closed, and we were alone.

Theron took my hand. "Minerva, are you hungry?"

My stomach, forgotten in the panicked state of the last two hours, immediately created quite a ruckus at the mention of food. "Quite."

"I know an excellent place for us to go, then."

Down the halls, up and down staircases, through a veritable garden of stolid silver suits of armor, and we stopped in front of a painting - a still life of fruit. Theron drew out his wand and tapped a pear, and the portrait swung open to tantalizing smells of glorious food. Theron bowed to me. "After you, madam."

I curtsied gracefully. "Thank you, good sir." His smile flashed at me, and I felt my knees go weak again. I recovered and launched myself through the portrait hole.

Looking around, I saw what could be nothing other than the Hogwarts kitchens. House-elves ran around frantically, clad in Hogwarts tea-towels. One took notice of us and ran over, ears flopping, and he flung his arms around Theron's knees. "Master Dumblydore! Master Dumblydore!"

Theron tried to free his knees from the elf's strong lock around them. "Hello, Bippy."

'Bippy' said, "Master Dumblydore - and Missy Minerva! Is you wanting food?"

"If it's not too much trouble," said Theron.

And just like that, we were led off to a small table for two in the corner, and we were presented with hot, fresh bread and a thick stew. Thanking Bippy politely, we tucked in. The stew was thick, with large chunks of meat and vegetables, and I savored every bite - it was the first real meal I'd had since Christmas dinner. Theron and I did not speak until we had mopped up the last bit of stew with the remaining crusts of our bread. One of Bippy's cohorts popped up and swept away our crockery, while another brought us mugs of cocoa and scones with jam.

For a while, we sipped thoughtfully, spreading scones thickly with the jam and taking careful, slow bites. As I polished off my first scone, something that had been eating away at my mind for the last hour finally asked itself. I said abruptly, "What was going on right before you Portkeyed in?"

Theron set his mug down and appeared to be gathering his thoughts. I was quiet. After a moment, he said, "D'you remember where it was I told Dad I went?"

I nodded. He continued, "After I'd landed in Edinburgh, I was very, very tired. I'd been Apparating and Disapparating all day, and I was running out of places to go. Thankfully, Crabbe and Goyle were more exhausted than I was, and they flagged, and I had a chance to catch my breath. But then Crabbe and Goyle were pulled off me, and Malfoy put two fresh ones on me - I didn't know where else to go. I Disapparated one more time, hoping I could make a stand - " His voice cut off, and I took his hand across the table. He took a deep breath and continued. "And I landed in the woods behind Weathervane - where my mother is buried." I remembered the photograph of Mariana Dumbledore in her room in St. Mungo's with a twinge of guilt and sympathy. "A few minutes later, they showed up. We - traded fire for a while, and then I remembered the Portkey, and I tried it, and - thank Merlin - it worked. I don't think I could have lasted much longer." A sigh escaped him, and he closed his eyes. I thought I understood how he was feeling - relieved that his father was safe and that he'd passed the test that his father had set for him - knowingly or unknowingly - with flying colors. He was exhausted - very exhausted, I noted. There was a certain sag to his entire countenance that would not have been there if he had not extended himself so much that day and been so worried. He seemed weighed down. I wished I could see the spark of intense liveliness that was so often there in his eyes - it was quite conspicuously absent.

His eyes opened suddenly, and amazingly enough, a hint of that spark was back. I felt better. "Let's walk."

We bade farewell to Bippy and left, walking aimlessly arm in arm all over the school. We stopped in the trophy room, and he immediately found the list of Head Girls. He stopped when he got to my name. "There you are." He reached out and ran a finger over my name, tracing a finger around the picture frame. The Minerva McGonagall in the picture shied away from his touch, looking out distrustfully. Theron looked at me, seeming grave, but with a dangerous air of amusement behind that façade. "Standoffish, were you?"

I furiously hid a blush. "Most people would put it that way."

His face lost that amused look. "There was no one for you in your classes?"

I thought. "No. Why do you ask?"

The plain grave look was replaced by fleeting nervousness, then resolve, and then a look of complete innocence. "No reason."

I gave him the hairy eyeball. "No reason?" I repeated.

He began to look distinctly uncomfortable. "Well..." he hazarded.

I raised an eyebrow.

And then the thing I had never thought to hear out of any man's mouth, much less his, popped out. "Will you marry me?"

I was absolutely flabbergasted. I wanted to respond. I wanted to say yes. I couldn't - I was too surprised. He took the ensuing silence to mean disapproval, and he said hurriedly, "I know it's only been a few months, and I know we're - we're both new at this sort of thing, but Minerva, I - I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. I look at you and I see my thoughts and beliefs reflected in your eyes. You're so much like me...and yet you have a sparkle, something indefinable, that's all your own - something strange and wonderful that I love. Minerva, if - if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife, you...I cannot tell you how happy it would make me."

I would have laughed at the earnest, imploring look on his face except that I was still speechless. I swallowed down the huge lump in my throat and made my answer.

"Yes," I whispered.

When we got around to leaving the trophy room, we ran smack into Professor Dumbledore. He looked askance at us, and then Theron said, "Er, Dad..."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

My fiancé - how odd that sounded - said, "Well..."

I interjected, "That is to say..."

"We're sort of..."

I looked at him indignantly. "Sort of?"

Theron half-smiled. "Well, not sort of."

"I should certainly hope not, after that speech!"

"I meant every word of it," he assured me.

"That's good," I said, not able to hide a wide grin.

Professor Dumbledore said wryly, "You two care to get on with it, or shall I just tell myself that you're engaged and have done with it?"

We turned and looked at him, agape. He said, waving a hand, "If I waited for you to spit it out, we'd be here all night, and I wouldn't have the opportunity to congratulate you both."

We looked at each other, then back at Professor Dumbledore. And then all three of us started to laugh.

Two of us, anyway.

Professor Dumbledore was smiling into his moustache.

~