The Burning Pen

Through the Looking Glass
by Ruth Solomon

The story content is adult in nature and can contain graphic sex and violence.  Those under the age of 18 are asked to leave this site immediately.  You are not welcome here.  The author is not responsible for those under-aged who view these works.

CHAPTER 42

All recognizable characters belong to JKR. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 42 ~ Beginnings and Endings

A very frustrated Minerva let herself into the Potions office. Her extra credit appointment had cancelled, and she had hoped for a bit of enjoyable stress relief. Damn that petition. And damn Tom Riddle! He could have been more supportive, but no. He pulled a Pontius Pilate, washing his hands of the whole situation.

Well, the teachers had put their heads together. There would be one more quarterly report sent home before graduation, and every single student who boycotted them would fail. Every one of them! Let them deal with their parents and guardians.

Acting out was one thing, but facing the realities of failure was another. Some of the students would be shaken enough to fall back to the original status. Once the back of the beast was broken, and their solidarity smashed, the teachers could take control again. At least, that was the plan.

Minerva had just closed the door when a strange voice said, “Hello, Professor McGonagall.”

The witch spun, drawing her wand and pointing it directly between the eyes of Tom Riddle, who was sitting behind her desk, looking up at her coolly.

Minerva quickly lowered her wand and stared back at him. What the hell was he doing in her office, seated behind her desk? And what was wrong with his voice?

”Headmaster,” she gasped, “I . . . I didn’t know it was you. Your . . . your voice . . .”

Voldemort made a big production of clearing his throat.

”I’ve come down with something, Professor. A bit of a tickle in my throat. Hopefully it will pass in a few days,” Voldemort replied.

Minerva nodded nervously.

Voldemort studied this incarnation of Minerva McGonagall. She had long, black hair, black eyes and wore dark lipstick. Her robes were black and hung off her frame flatteringly and her face was nicely made up, not overstated. All in all, she looked younger than in his world, and definitely had a darker, more sensual aura than her prim and proper counterpart. Apparently, in this world she didn’t have a broomstick stuck up her arse like in the other.

”May I ask why you are here, Headmaster?” the witch ventured.

Ah, Headmaster. How Voldemort enjoyed being addressed as such. The wizard held out a parchment. She took it from him.

”I am here for three reasons, professor. The first is that I wish to incorporate a potions store in my office. That is a list of potions I wish you to supply me with immediately,” he told her.

Minerva read over the list. Voldemort had wisely requested several elixirs, when all he really wanted was the Polyjuice potion.

Minerva looked up at him with a small smirk.

”Two gallons of Polyjuice potion, Tom? It seems as if you intend to do quite a bit of impersonation,” she said to him, thinking he was going to move among the students and try to derail their boycott. He was just that sneaky after all.

”Possibly,” Voldemort replied, arching an eyebrow at her. “Now, the second request I have of you, is that you deliver to me the elixir that you feed Albus Dumbledore.”

Minerva turned ashen as she looked at him, the list of ingredients falling from her hand. Voldemort watched it drift slowly to the floor and looked up at the witch with a small scowl.

”Is there a problem, professor?” he asked her, a bit of warning in his lowered voice.

”Well, that potion. It’s brewed with the venom of his familiar, Nagina. It is poisonous to anyone else, Headmaster,” she said in a quavering voice. “If you imbibe it . . . “

”Let me concern myself with that. You will deliver me that potion as soon as possible. Am I understood?”

Minerva nodded as Voldemort rose and walked from around the desk. He approached her, invading her personal space, looking down at her. Minerva was rather tall, but Voldemort was still taller.

”The last request I have for you is this, professor. I want you to arrange a face-to-face meeting for me with the Dark Lord,” he breathed. “I have undergone a change of heart, and wish to discuss strategy with him.”

Minerva blinked.

”A . . . a change of heart, sir? I . . . I don’t understand,” the Potions mistress said.

Voldemort ran a finger down her cheek, his eyes narrowing.

”It isn’t for you to understand,” he said softly, “but suffice it to say, we are now on the same side of the fence and need to talk in order to expand our territory.”

”But . . . but he would never agree to it, Tom. Never,” Minerva stated, looking nervous, afraid he would strike or hex her for her doubts. “You and he have been enemies for so long, he will be sure to think this to be a trick.”

”I solemnly swear my interests and Albus Dumbledore’s interests are one and the same,” Voldemort lisped, forgetting himself, but speaking in a low enough whisper so Minerva didn’t catch it.

Minerva gasped as the magic of a wizard’s oath swirled around them.

”You give him that in a Pensieve. A wizard’s oath would never take if I were lying, would it, professor?” he asked her.

”No, sir. No, it wouldn’t,” the witch responded, awed and shaken by what she had witnessed. Tom Riddle was changing sides? Siding with Purebloods? It was nearly impossible to believe, but she witnessed the oath herself.

”I want you to carry that message to him as soon as possible. I am anxiously awaiting my appointment,” Voldemort told her.

”Yes, Headmaster,” Minerva intoned as he walked toward the door.

”And deliver those potions immediately,” he said as he opened the door.

”Yes, sir,” Minerva agreed, then watched as he exited.

”Grindewald’s gutted giblets. What is going on with that wizard?” she breathed.

If Tom Riddle had changed alliances, the wizarding world was in for a great upheaval. He was the most influential and powerful wizard outside of the Minister of Magic. This could mean a lot of trouble for Muggle-Borns and those who supported them.

Still, Tom had given her a direct order. She had to fulfill it. The Potions mistress hurried to her stores to collect the potions requested. After she delivered them, she would request an audience with Lord Bedaub Mules. This was news he would be very interested in receiving.

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For the next three days, Tom Riddle a.k.a. Voldemort, remained in his office, seen little by the staff or the boycotting students. They figured that he was lying low because of the boycott, so his absence from the Great Hall wasn’t considered strange . . . just tactical.

Minerva reported to Voldemort on the third day, informing him Lord Bedaub Mules agreed to meet him in a neutral area, a secluded, open moor. Minerva herself would transport him once summoned in two days.

”Excellent,” Voldemort breathed.

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Four days after the release of the Horcruxes, and subsequent demise of Tom Riddle, hundreds of people gathered under an overcast sky on the grounds of Hogwarts to say their final goodbyes to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Although Snape tried desperately to save him, he was unable to do so. The old wizard had absorbed the power of the Horcrux released from Harry, and so, suffered the fate meant for the young wizard. It was his final sacrifice for the Greater Good. 

People slowly filled the hundreds of chairs set up in rows on the landscape, walking up the large center aisle dividing them, murmuring softly to each other.

A marble table was set up at the front of the assembly, the chairs all facing it. The Hogwarts’ student orchestra and choir were positioned on right side of the table, on a raised dais, the young musicians quietly testing their instruments as Flitwick looked on, sadness in his eyes. Dean Thomas stood nervously before the chorus, sipping water carefully. He hoped he didn’t hit any sour notes.

It was Albus’ wish to be laid to rest at Hogwarts, and all classes had been suspended as preparations were made. Madam Maxime and a contingent of students from Beauxbatons arrived to pay their respects, Maxime throwing herself into Hagrid’s arms in grief when she descended from the huge, powder-blue carriage.

The Minister of Magic arrived with a delegation of officials to say his goodbyes as well. All of the Order members were in attendance, Tonks sitting with Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody stumping to a seat in the very back, looking about warily. The squib, Mrs. Figg was there, dabbing her eyes with a small, pink handkerchief. The Weasleys were present as well, Arthur holding a sobbing Molly’s hand as Fleur sat with Bill, her head resting on his shoulder in quiet despair. Fred and George were somber, for once not in a joksy mood.  There was nothing funny about this.  Nothing at all. Madame Malkin, Mr. Ollivander and Rita Skeeter were also in attendance, as were many others known, but too numerous to mention.

Rita’s Quick-Quotes quill moved across a parchment notepad so quickly, smoke was curling upward from the nib. The reporter felt just because she was at a funeral, there was no reason to pass on a good story.

In the lake, hundreds of merpeople bobbed inches beneath the surface, singing softly in their strange voices, pallid faces rippling and purplish hair swirling in the current of the water. Shadowed between the trees, the centaurs stood, also paying their respects to the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts had ever known.

Hundreds of ordinary people who admired the wizard all presented themselves. The first four rows were left open. Those seats were for the Hogwarts students, who soon made their appearance, each house led by its Head of House.

First Minerva walked up the aisle, her eyes wet, leading the Gryffindors to the seats on the right, followed by Pomona Sprout, head of Hufflepuff and her charges, who filled the seats on the left. The Ravenclaws arrived without a Head of House, because Flitwick was with the chorus and orchestra, but they were just as organized as if he were there as they settled behind the Gryffindors. A somber professor Snape led his Slytherins to their seat as well, his dark eyes betraying nothing of his feelings as he sat down.

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The arrival of the students was the official start of the services. Flitwick tapped his baton and merpeople ceased singing as the organist and pianist began to play a prelude. Dean Thomas stepped forward from the chorus, appearing to look up toward the gray sky as he listened to the prelude, then began to sing.

How do I say goodbye to what we had?
The good times that made us laugh
Outweighed the bad.

I thought we'd get to see forever
But forever had gone away
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.

Hagrid appeared, walking slowly up the center aisle, in his arms the fabric-wrapped body of Albus Dumbledore. The half-giant was crying openly, his brother Grawp, a full but rather small giant, watching from the back of the service. He took up several seats.

Quiet sobs echoed on both sides as Hagrid made his way up the aisle. Hermione sat between Harry and Ron, her head resting on Harry’s shoulder, sobbing as he passed. Harry sat there numbly, overcome with sorrow . . . and guilt. Dumbledore had died to save him. Why did he do it? It was his burden . . . his destiny. Now, he had to live with the burden of knowing he was the reason for the death of the greatest wizards who ever lived. Yes, Voldemort was gone, but that paled in comparison to the loss of the Headmaster.

The chorus, strings and brass, and woodwinds swelled as Hagrid gently rested the remains of the beloved wizard on the marble table, then turned, sobbing, and walking quickly back down the aisle to sit beside his brother, who patted him on the head sympathetically, sinking Hagrid’s chair into the ground a few inches.

I don't know where this road
Is going to lead to
All I know is where we've been
And what we've been through.

If it gets me to tomorrow
I hope it's worth all the wait
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.

As Dean began the final verse, suddenly, the sun broke through the clouds, brightening the sky, a single, glorious beam shining down on the marble table and turning it luminous with golden light, and Fawkes flew from between the trees, circling above, letting out a cry, then disappearing in a bright burst of fire.

And I'll take with me the memories
To be my sunshine after the rain
It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.

Tears flowed freely at this display and Fawkes’ final tribute to his master. Even nature itself seemed to honor the passing of this great wizard, covering him in light, reflecting the love of those who both celebrated and mourned him. The song ended, and Dean stepped back to rejoin the chorus.

A tufted headed little man walked to the podium and gave the eulogy. Harry didn’t know who he was and could barely understand him. He did notice the merpeople had broken the surface and stood listening attentively. Hermione still sobbed silently against his shoulder as Ron stared at the body on the table, his blue eyes glistening. Soon, the man stopped speaking and Harry expected someone else to rise and speak but no one moved.

Suddenly, bright white flames erupted around Dumbledore’s body, climbing higher and higher, obscuring it as several people cried out in surprise and fear. White smoke curled above, forming strange shapes . . . and Harry could have sworn he saw a phoenix soar away joyfully from the midst of the smoke. Snape’s eyes followed the form . . . he saw it too, and the heaviness in his heart lifted just a bit.

”Farewell, Albus,” he said softly, his black eyes glistening with moisture.

Suddenly, the fire vanished, and in its place was left a white marble tomb that encased both the remains and the table they rested on. Albus Dumbledore’s physical body was securely interred on the grounds of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry . . . for eternity, but his spirit and his memory would always be carried to the ends of the earth in the hearts of those who knew and loved him.

Albus Dumbledore may not have been the perfect leader, but . . . in the end, he had made a difference for the better in the lives of others, and what better tribute to the worth of a man’s life is there than that?

As far as the wizarding world was concerned, there was none. Albus Dumbledore left this world a hero, and a hero he would always remain.

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A/N: Thanks for reading. ***

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