The bright sun roamed high overhead, throwing its sparkling rays across the verdant landscape in a glittering dance of reds and yellows. The sky was vibrant sapphire, marred only by pale wisps of grey clouds floating lazily in the ocean of blue. A soft breeze barely tickled the tops of a forest of trees, while the shadows underneath were left to languish in the stifling warmth that reached even into the shade and doused everything in waves of summer heat.
A lone figure approached the edge of the small forest, striding on foot along a path dotted with wildflowers and rocks. He wore loose-fitting purple robes, charmed to repel the oppressive heat, and carried a stout oak walking stick, carved with scrolls and whirls. He moved with a sense of direction, but a weariness weighed on his shoulders as if he walked reluctantly toward his destination. With a sigh he took off his spectacles to wipe them clean of the dust the dry road kicked up as he walked. Replacing them atop his crooked nose, he entered the dim eaves of the woods and continued on his journey.
After several months away, Albus Dumbledore was finally returning home. He had Apparated to a small town several miles from Hogsmeade, and in spite of the unusual heat wave had decided to walk the short distance to Hogwarts. He needed some quiet time alone with the many thoughts and memories that tumbled about his mind.
Currently he strode through a small forest on the outskirts of a sleepy Muggle village. He had traveled through this part of the country several times, and remembered the path well: it wound through the forest for several miles, crossing over a meandering stream before passing through an empty clearing. It eventually lead back into a vast field that stretched to Hogsmeade, and joined with the road to the castle. The trees offered only slight respite from the heat; their shaded branches at least dimmed the harsh sun that had beat at his back as he had crossed the open moors surrounding the woods. The sounds of the forest reached through his hazy thoughts and for several moments he gave himself over to their quiet peace; soft breezes, chirping insects, and bubbling brooks slowly calmed his busy mind.
As he walked, Albus began to thoughtfully ponder the events of the past several months. The end of the Muggle war had been violent but decisive, and with it the Wizarding world had stepped up its own offensive against the Dark wizard who had threatened the magical community. The final battle with Grindelwald was three months past, but Albus still woke in a sweat, dreams of the death and destruction he had witnessed on the battlefield leaving him lying awake for hours.
With another sigh he contemplated the heartbreaking aftermath: so many lives now gone, lost to the senseless war. There had been hundreds of dead and wounded to remove from the field: witches and wizards, young and old, friends and strangers. The magical community mourned heavy losses, while still trying to recover from the divisive prejudices of Grindelwald’s pureblood ideology. The sad cleanup had been followed by endless meetings first with the International Confederation of Wizards, and then with Britain’s own Ministry of Magic. Upon his return to London, he had been quietly offered the position of Minister for Magic; but Albus knew his heart lay with Hogwarts, and had graciously turned down the generous proposal. He wished to remain with his students, begin his new partnership with Nicholas Flamel, and continue to watch over the mysterious Tom Riddle.
Yet after leaving London he had decided to journey across the country first, to personally meet with the families of all those who had been lost in the grim fight with Grindelwald. These witches and wizards had placed their fate in his hands, and though the battle had been won, a great many lives had been lost as the price for that victory. Albus had visited dozens of Wizarding families over the course of the past month. He had expressed countless condolences, thanking each husband and wife for their sacrifice, comforting each brother or sister on their loss, assuring each child of their future place at Hogwarts. He had just met with the Potter family, whose youngest son had been killed in the battle. It had been his final visit, and Albus found himself both mentally and physically exhausted by the demanding task he had set himself; it was a feeling that was new to him, and unsettling. By nightfall he hoped to reach Hogsmeade, to visit with his brother Aberforth before returning to the castle and the comfort of his own bed.
However, while Albus was looking forward to returning to his rooms at Hogwarts, he had been gone for so many months that he also dreaded the homecoming. It had been five years since his wife had died, but Albus still felt the pain of Cathryn’s absence every day he roamed the grounds; it still felt empty without her. Her death had helped propel him into the long struggle with Grindelwald, a battle that had kept him occupied for five years. In some ways the effort had filled the hole in his life where Cathryn had been; but now that the Dark wizard was defeated, Albus felt that void opening once more, and the emptiness threatened to return upon his arrival at Hogwarts.
Albus strolled absently along the forest path, his mind absorbed with thoughts of Cathryn: of their wedding five years ago in the Great Hall, of their trip to Brodick Castle, and of the fateful night when she had been killed by Muggle bombers in London on the eve of the Blitz. He wondered what he might find on his return to Hogwarts: how was Hagrid getting on with the gameskeeper? Was Nicholas Flamel ready to begin their work together? What was Tom Riddle doing after graduation? From the present his thoughts moved to the future, to a world free of the oppressive pureblood doctrine of Grindelwald and his followers. He hoped for many years of peaceful work and study, but a nagging inner voice marred his hope with doubt.
As he walked, Albus became lost in his thoughts. His normally perceptive ears did not hear the sounds of the woodland gradually fade away; his bright eyes did not notice the sunlight fading. His feet carried him along the path as his mind wandered, and he did not realize he had crossed the small stream and entered the clearing. He only happened to glance up by chance and was surprised to see that the clearing he remembered was no longer empty: directly in front of him stood a dilapidated old wooden building.
Albus frowned as he stopped in his tracks, startled by the strange appearance of the mysterious structure: a well-worn, two-story house with a rickety steps leading up to broad porch, the building appeared to have been there for years, and yet Albus had never come across it in all of his travels through the forest. A wooden sign hung from a post nearby, painted with the image of a faded green dragon holding a cluster of violet grapes in its mouth. It appeared to be an inn of sorts, though it was of a type not seen in England for hundreds of years, and surely he would have come across it if it had been there for so long.
As Albus stood and stared at the unusual sight, an old man came stomping out of the house. He walked with a limp, dragging his left foot slightly behind him. His face was lined and shrewd looking, with piercing black eyes staring moodily out from under a shock of scrubby white hair that stuck up at odd angles. His nose appeared to have been broken several times, and his mouth was creased with frown lines. He wore coarse robes of woven grey wool in a style not seen for centuries, and exuded an air of brusqueness.
The old man stopped at the top of the stairs. “Well, come in, for Merlin’s sake. You’re late.” His voice was abrupt and gruff sounding, like that of a many who didn’t speak very often.
Albus instinctively turned to see if the stranger was speaking to someone behind him. The old man had already started back into the house. “Yes, I’m talking to you. Let’s go, storm’s coming.” Albus glanced up in surprise, and watched as dark clouds began rolling in overhead. He saw the tops of the trees begin to sway, as the wind picked up and began to whip the grass in the clearing.
“Fine, get soaked, what do I care,” the man snapped from the doorway. “Damn fools always take their time coming in, I’ll never understand it. I’ll be inside, should you care to join me anytime soon.” He stomped back inside, slamming the door behind him.
With a loud crack, an angry bolt of lightening unleashed a torrent of summer rain from the dark sky, startling Albus out of his reticence. He darted toward the dilapidated old building, curiously wondering what the mysterious inn held in store for him.
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A/N: Albus Dumbledore’s wife Cathryn was introduced in the story Portrait of a Love Lost. His final battle with Grindelwald and his first meeting with Nicholas Flamel was portrayed in the story Many Meetings. Should you care to read more of the history I have given one of my favorite characters, I would be honored if you read these stories.
Thank you to my lovely hardworking beta, myownmuggle, for continuing to look over my work!