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It was almost autumn, and the leaves were turning red. Albus' hair was almost the same shade, blending in with the surroundings as he lay down at his usual spot to think. At eighteen, he already had a far greater understanding of magic than most adult wizards. In Albus' eyes, magic was in every molecule of the air, every pore of his being thrumming alive with it. Right now, lying on the riverbank with the sounds of water rushing by, he had never felt more attuned to it.
Albus closed his eyes. Despite that, he could see particles of magic floating around him from the ground. They glowed gold in his mind's eye, the colour of Gellert's hair.
It wasn't sight as humans knew it, but more of a perception that allowed him to witness the layers of magic present in the air. Albus focused on the sound of the wind, and waved his hand.
Immediately, the leaves began to swirl around him, guided by an unseen force. When Albus opened his eyes again, even the trees had begun to shake in the wind, moved around by naught but his will.
Marvellous, Albus thought, as he willed the wind to stop. The trees ceased their shaking, the leaves fell to the ground once more, and it was as if that raw display of power never happened.
Albus had never felt more calm. At least, until Aberforth started shouting his name, storming into the clearing and demanding him to calm Ariana down, lest she unleash her magic on the house again.
Soon, Albus thought, she will be free. He unconsciously clenched his jaw. He could still feel the tendrils of magic around him, waiting to do as he bid.
The Muggles would pay for ever bringing this upon his family.
-
Of course, that day never came. Ariana died, Gellert fled, and Aberforth broke Albus' nose.
Albus went back to his spot by the riverbank again, tears running down his face. The water in the river swirled and rushed and overflowed, but he paid it no heed in his grief. The familiar comfort of the place was now poisoned by memory, a stillness broken only by the relentless river echoing the turmoil inside him.
He knew he had to leave.
-
After Ariana died, he travelled extensively. Alone, of course—he could not bear to think of what happened the last time he had allowed himself to connect emotionally with someone else. Albus was no fool to think such an unlikely event would happen once more, but at the same time he resolved to keep others away. If not for himself, then for them.
On a trip to the Sahara desert, searching for ancient tombs veiled by the sand, with his mouth dry and skin warm, he encountered a small baby chick.
"Oh, you poor dear," Albus said softly. The bird blinked at him, its feathers barely grown. It could not have been more than a few months old, Albus estimated. He had never been truly good at Care of Magical Creatures, because he was only interested in the theory behind them and their applications (read: the 12 uses of dragon blood). But, really, how hard could taking care of a bird be?
As if it had heard his thoughts, the bird squawked indignantly.
Albus wrapped it in a scarf and continued on his journey. But this time, he was searching for water, thoughts of ancient tombs left behind in the sand.
The bird grew. In time, Albus was intrigued to find red feathers growing from its back, marking its identity as a phoenix.
They reached an oasis. Albus gently set the bird down—he knew that phoenixes were proud creatures, never to be tied down by the sheer whims of a mortal, not least one as unworthy and cowardly as him. Really, he should never have been sorted into Gryffindor.
"Goodbye, my friend," Albus softly said, "I hope we meet again."
Yet no sooner than he had turned his back did he feel a soft weight land on his shoulder. He turned his head in surprise. The phoenix, now looking towards at him, crooned softly.
Albus felt a burst of joy in his chest. He laughed, and the phoenix trilled in response. The hot air seemed to become more bearable, if only for a second.
"Well," Albus smiled, wiping a lone tear that had escaped from his eye. "We must give you a name, then." He thought of the Muggle who had attempted to blow up the House of Lords, many years ago. He rather felt the same, with his happiness at gaining a new companion threatening to burst forth and erupt from his chest.
"How does Fawkes sound to you?"
-
As the years went by and he became a Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts, it seemed as his affinity to magic continued to grow. Perhaps it was the fact that the environment was simply brimming with magic, whether in the students, the portraits, the very architecture of the castle itself. Or perhaps it was because Albus loved Hogwarts more than words could describe, and his magic took to that.
After all, you grow the best when around the ones you love, and who love you back.
-
"Dumbledore!" The Minister of Magic, currently on his sixth visit to Hogwarts this month, leaned frantically towards him. "Don't you see, you're the only one that can stop Grindelwald at this time—Paris has almost fallen now, it'll be us soon—why aren't you doing anything!"
Albus closed his eyes. The particles of magic still glowed, but they seemed duller somehow—no longer the vibrant gold of Gellert's hair.
"You're right, Minister," he reopened his eyes tiredly. "Just give me some time."
-
Contrary to what many may believe (the Prophet wrote that lightning danced across the sky and storms shook the earth before their duel, but it was never as dramatic), when Albus faced Grindelwald, it was on a sunny day.
Fawkes never took well to rainy weather, always looking at it with a scowl. He seemed to hate dark skies even more, despite the fact that he could light it up easily with his flames. And on the times Albus tried to go alone, his phoenix would not leave his side.
"Just let me go," Albus reasoned calmly. "It's not like you being there would have much difference, I could win anyway."
Fawkes squawked. Albus had never learnt the phoenix language before, but he was pretty sure it meant "shut up".
When he faced Gellert in front of Nurmengard, the prison towering above both of them, Gellert smiled, his face lighting up with the boyish charm Albus was all too familiar with. "Are you sure you won't join me, Albus? You shared this dream once, I seem to remember—"
"Cut the pleasantries, Gellert," Albus interrupted, brandishing his wand.
If anything, Gellert's smile only widened. In turn, he took out his wand, and Albus did a double take.
It was not Gellert's old wand, yew and coloured white with a thestral's hair for its core. This wand was different—magic seemed to gather around it, black and heavy and so dense it seemed to be shrouded in darkness. Albus had never seen any wand like it before, and so he knew what exactly it was.
At his look of recognition, Gellert started laughing, a deep, dark sound that sounded nothing like what he once was. "That's right, Albus, it's the Elder Wand. Old friend, you cannot beat me here, not while it's in my hand."
Albus gripped his wand tighter. Without the Elder Wand, he knew he could beat Gellert easily, but this added new factors into the equation—
Fawkes, appearing in a flash of fire, landed on his shoulder. Once again, Albus was reminded of what he had to fight for, and his resolve strengthened.
"I don't care," he said simply, and slashed his wand forward.
And as dawn turned to dusk, Albus Dumbledore walked away from that duel the saviour of Wizarding Europe, crowned in a halo of fire.
-
It was not too long after that he met Tom Riddle, now as Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts. One look at the boy's eyes and he could feel the darkness in him. No, he did not use Legilimency for that task. Albus was not fond of doing that to children. He simply recognised the look of hatred. It was what Aberforth wore after Ariana's death, and what his expression still said every tine Albus was in his line of sight. It was how Gellert had looked at him after the duel.
At least their hatred was directed towards Albus. Tom's hatred was directed towards everyone and everything. The things Mrs. Cole had told him, and how other children in the cottage cowered away from him... Against his will, Albus felt a deep sense of loathing towards the boy.
He set the boy's wardrobe on fire as a demonstration. He relished the pain in the boy's eyes before putting it out.
Curiously, the magic that gathered around the boy seemed to be dark red, a shade darker than Albus' own hair.
Many years later, when Albus encountered the same boy when he applied for the Defence position at Hogwarts, that magic had turned completely black, the shade that had gathered around the Elder Wand in the past. That was when Albus knew Tom would never step foot into Hogwarts again, not while Albus himself was still breathing.
-
Tom, defeated. James and Lily, dead. Peter, dead. Sirius, in Azkaban, in eternal torment for what he did to his best friend. A baby, at the heart of it all, wailing in his aunt's house.
Severus, broken, fervently wishing he was dead. Albus could sympathise. Instead, he watched detachedly as the magic around Severus swirled like gusts of wind in his state of grief, almost knocking over a stack of books in his office.
Albus could almost see himself at the riverbank in that moment. Poor child, he thought. But to pity Severus out loud was akin to pitying himself, and Albus knew that the world didn't need that.
Instead, he spoke calmly and purposefully to Severus, urging him to protect Harry Potter's life, to honour the sacrifice made by Lily Evans.
-
When Harry entered Hogwarts at the age of eleven, Albus took a deep breath and watched the air around him ripple gently with magic. It was clear to Albus that the boy did not have the raw power that he or Tom had. It was interesting, however, that the magic particles around him glowed a dark red, the same as Tom's had been. It was even more unnerving, because as Albus watched Harry the more sure he became that Harry was not like Tom in any way. He felt a nagging sense that something was amiss, though he could not identify it then.
Curiously, the magic particles around the new Defence teacher, Quirrell, seemed to be eerily dark. Albus had chalked it down to his adventures in Albania when hiring him, but Quirrell seemed to be even more of a fool as the days went by. He had a nagging feeling that something was wrong, and he told Severus as such.
"So you want me to watch the fool," Severus tilted his head, dark eyes glinting with curiosity.
"And Harry, as well," Albus felt compelled to add. Severus' face twisted into a scowl.
"As you wish, Albus. But do not harbour hope that I will take a liking to him," he sneered, "the spitting image of his father, in personality and in looks." With that, the Potions Master stalked away, leaving Albus to watch him disappear into the dark.
"Well, it was worth a try," Albus murmured.
-
He awoke to Fawkes' sorrowful song. Severus had his wand pointed at his hand, muttering incantations desperately under his breath. His face twisted into a snarl when he noticed Albus was awake, and ceased his muttering to berate him.
"Why," said Severus, anger and pain in his voice, "why did you put on that ring? It carries a curse, surely you realised that. Why even touch it?"
Fawkes' tears landed on his hand. He could see it, but he could not feel it. Albus patted his head in consolation. The phoenix let out a cry, seemingly knowing that his effort was futile, and flew to his perch to gnaw on a piece of cuttlebone. Albus grimaced. "I... was a fool. Sorely tempted..."
"Tempted by what?" Severus asked indignantly.
Albus did not answer, mouth shut by shame.
"It was a miracle you managed to return here! That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power, to contain it is all we can hope for. I have managed to trap it in one hand for the time being."
Albus observed his blackened, useless hand with a morbid sense of curiosity. "I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus."
"If you had only summoned me a little earlier, I could have bought you more time!" Severus said, furious. Albus could hear the hurt in his voice. His heart felt heavy with guilt. Severus will lose another. He has let me close to his heart, and I have failed him.
"Did you think breaking the ring would break the curse?" Severus looked pensively at the broken ring, and the Sword of Gryffindor lying on the floor. Albus felt a bitter laugh rise in his chest. No, my dear boy, but I cannot tell you the truth. Yet.
At times he looked at Severus and wondered which one of them was truly the lonely one. Severus could at least know that Albus knew all his secrets. Albus' secrets were his and his only to keep.
"You must kill me, Severus."
And as Severus raged against his decision and his secrets, Albus felt his resolve weakening, and so he agreed to tell Severus of his plans. Of Tom's secrets, of Harry's sacrifice, of the one that Severus had to make—
Yet, in his heart, he knew some secrets were still meant to be taken to the grave.
-
A year later, and he was staring down Draco Malfoy on top of the Astronomy Tower. Albus smiled.
"You are no killer, Draco."
The boy stiffened. He was so very clearly afraid. Harry, under the Invisibility Cloak and Stunned, surely felt the same, even if Albus couldn't see him.
Distantly, Albus saw the magic particles that were once so visible to him, so attuned to his every mood, were slowly fading out of his sight. Perhaps that was due to the potion, the curse on his hand, and the fact that he had just so very recently been disarmed. Losing his wand was the last straw, it seemed.
It occurred to him that there was the possibility that his plan had gone wrong somewhere.
More Death Eaters came. The Carrows, Greyback, and finally...
"Severus," Albus said, softly. "Severus, please..."
And Severus, eyes glittering with what others may have thought was hatred for him, stepped forward. Albus wondered if he was the only one who knew that that hatred was directed towards Severus himself.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Albus watched as the green flash of light travelled slowly towards him. Its light seemed to block out every other colour, including the glow of the magic particles that he had become so used to. A strange, quiet calm settled over him. Fawkes cried out, a sorrowful lament, as Albus Dumbledore fell backwards off the Astronomy Tower.