Fellowship & Fairydust

Albus Dumbledore sat quietly in his office. Everyone was off celebrating, and the normal flock of owls that demanded his attention was noticeably absent for this one day of the year. He very much enjoyed the peace and quiet – or so he told himself.

Reaching for another lemon drop, he picked up one of his favourite books – Tales of Transfiguration, by Ovid. The Muggles had their own version, The Metamorphosis, he believed it was called. It held the most amusing tales of various truly grand transfigurations. Of course, he doubted that these days even a master like himself could transfigure someone into a star, but who truly knew all possibilities of magic?

The portrait of Headmistress Derwynt coughed, and he looked up. His eyes widened as he saw the face of his friend and partner Nicholas Flamel stare back at him. He blinked and looked again.

“Yes, Headmaster?” the witch asked him with interest. “Anything I can do for you?”

The old man shook his head. “Eh… no. Thank you.”

“Are you alright?” she asked. “You don’t look well. Shall I peep into Saint Mungo’s…?”

“No, no, that is quite alright,” he hastened to reassure her. “I thought… well, my mind must be playing tricks on me today.”

“If you say so,” the portrait looked around suspiciously.

***

The smoky figure of the woman appeared once more in Harry’s home. “Prepare yourselves,” she announced, “the Messenger is about to arrive.”

Harry and Severus took a step towards each other, the only line to reality they would have in the next hours.

“Who… who is going to be the messenger?” Harry asked with some hesitation.

“Obviously someone who is dead,” Severus muttered.

The woman motioned for them to come nearer, and held out a hand to each of them. “Come.”

***

Dismissing his previous experience as mere coincidence, and taking some lemon drops to sustain himself, Dumbledore continued with his book. By late afternoon it was already dark outside. With a quick flick of his wand, the curtains were drawn and the lights came on. A candle nearby cast a flickering, rustic light on his book, and he sighed in contentment.

First, there was a whirling sound. Then a plopping sound joined it. A slight screeching started seconds later, with puffs interjecting. Before the Headmaster knew what was happening, his office was full of noise, caused by the sudden activation of all the silver instruments littering the shelves.

“STOP! STOP!” Once more taking out his wand, he managed to calm the devices and silence returned, but by then he was so shaken he decided to get ready for an early night. He would read his book in bed.

***

“Look!” Severus hissed at Harry as they stood in the hallway before the door to the Headmaster’s rooms. “It’s Nicholas Flamel!”

“Nicholas?” Harry turned and stared at the ghostly figure. It was half-decaying, something at least the ghosts at Hogwarts had prevented, and it was dragging a heavy chain along with many locks that seemed permanently attached to its body. “Ugh!”

The ghost did not pay attention to them but slid through the closed door. Seeing their smoky guide do the same, Harry shrugged and walked into the unyielding door. Ten seconds later, after having opened and closed the door, Severus and Harry stood in the room, Harry nursing a lump on his forehead and Severus muttering about idiotic Gryffindors under his breath as he handed Harry his handkerchief, wetted and a cold charm applied.

“Thanks,” Harry muttered as the ghost… ghosted past them.

“Albus Dumbledore,” it said.

The Headmaster looked up. “N-Nicholas?”

“Aye, Nicholas,” the ghost said, rattling the chains with which it was bound. “Nicholas Flamel! You do remember me.”

“Of course, I remember you,” Dumbledore said calmly, “but you had not returned a ghost, as far as I know.”

“Seven years I have been locked away, carrying these chains of my guilt,” Nicholas ground out, “seven years of torment! Of finally knowing the right thing to do and not being able to do it. Listen to me, Albus, for this may be your last chance, as well.

“For many years we laboured for the ‘Greater Good’, sacrificing much. Much, indeed! So many things were lost by our folly, and so many others suffered. When I died, I was punished for my part in it, and the chain I carry around is a manifestation of the guilt that I carry. It is dreadful, and the same thing awaits you should you die. Only yours would be much longer and much heavier.”

The ghost looked at the Headmaster staring into his lemon-drop dish. “Do you not believe me?”

“The mind is a fickle thing,” Dumbledore said. “It can be affected by a number of spells and potions – indeed, even by an upset stomach, as a result of tainted food. You could be a bit of dinner that was spoiled, or perhaps too many lemon drops, though one has to wonder if that is even possible….”

Harry eyed Severus in disbelief. “Is he really thinking that will work if it didn’t work for Scrooge?”

The howl of the late Nicholas Flamel answered that inquiry. Obviously, the reply didn’t do anything more for Albus Dumbledore than it had for Ebenezer Scrooge.

“Listen to me, Dumbledore!” The spirit brooked no contradiction. “You will be visited by three Ghosts tonight. The first will arrive at midnight. Heed them, if you do not wish to spend eternity like me! Look!”

All looked outside in the direction Flamel was pointing. There, over the Hogwarts Lake, circled hundreds and hundreds of ghosts, each with their own chains and locks attached, moaning pitifully.

“Who are they?” Harry and Dumbledore voiced simultaneously.

“They all thought to rule. They all thought that the end justified the means,” Flamel answered, “like I did. Like you do.”

With that, the spirit jumped out of the window to join the others, and they sailed upwards towards the sky in a huge vortex, before whirling out of sight.

Albus Dumbledore was alone again, or so he thought. He shivered compulsively and nearly ran for his bedroom, where he dove into his bed.

“I guess that went according to plan,” Severus said, his voice a little regretful.

“I’m bringing you back now,” the woman’s voice interrupted their musings. “I will come for you again when the first of the spirits arrives.”

They stood in the library of Harry’s house once more, alone.

“Well,” Harry checked the clock, “three more hours until Smoky comes back. Shall we get a drink? I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

“Smoky?” Snape questioned even as he nodded his agreement to the proposed drink. “You better not let her hear you say that.” He took a sip of his fire whiskey. “Though I won’t deny that it does fit her,” he finished.

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