Fabian wants destruction and rampage. (revelations_) wrote in an_ill_wind, @ 2009-07-29 23:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | - 1980/07 july, albus dumbledore, fabian prewett |
Who: Fabian Prewett and Albus Dumbledore
When: Wednesday, 29 July, 1980; 8:00 PM.
Where: Hogwarts and then the Gaunt House and then Hogwarts again.
What: Fabian gets some perspective.
Rating: PG-13, for Fabian's obscene inner-monologue.
Status: Completed log!
The office fire crackled, anticipating Fabian Prewett's arrival. A pensieve sat on Albus' desk, silver mass of contents swirling darkly from the recently (and frequently) reviewed memories the Headmaster had drudged out of them. One his, two those of others that had all but confirmed Albus' suspicions. Tom Riddle's preoccupation with immortality--Albus had seen in the beginning that power had been the dark young man's greatest conquest, and his ascension to it since the early 70s had not been surprising. Tom had always been a smart boy. A disturbed young man, perhaps, but intelligent and with charm and magical power that well hid his true intentions. He was not only concerned with the "greater good" Albus and Gellert had discussed as teenagers, or in removing the muggle aspect of himself that the dark wizard considered so revolting. Erasing the weaknesses. Erasing the mortality. Then Horace had mentioned, hesitantly, horcruxes, and the pieces had all but fallen together. And now Albus sat, watching the swirling contents of events long gone, patiently waiting for both Fabian Prewett's arrival and his chastising. Albus could not deny that his attention on the Order as a whole had shifted considerably since being introduced to the idea of Tom Riddle having separated his soul (whether once or multiple times--that was the prevalent question). When he knew that both Edgar and Remus would survive their encounters with Bellatrix Lestrange, he refocused. And then remained there as he worked through years of memories, putting together a possibility. Then with the help of an old DMLE official, he had, quite possibly, located one. Fabian had been waiting rather impatiently for 8:00 to come around. He'd put the book he'd borrowed from Walden away, hiding it in the scary depths under his bed. A point of no return for quite a lot of his possessions, all things considered. The second his watch came around to 8:00 though, he floo-ed, well-used by now to the sensation. He straightened up, dusting himself off as he stepped into the Headmaster's office. He was going to tell him what he'd told Gideon and Dorcas and Moody. He wasn't being dramatic or looking for a reason to skive-off. He was just sick of all of it. And he didn't mind the idea of obliviation in the slightest. Not at Dumbledore's hand anyway. As annoyingly absent as he'd been, Fabian couldn't shake his trust in the old man. "Evening, Professor," he greeted nonchalantly, brushing the last of the soot off his jeans. "Good evening, Mr Prewett. Please," Albus replied, gesturing to the seat opposite him with a curt nod. "I am interested to hear what, specifically, has brought about your desire to leave the Order. I also hope to change your mind, of course, but we shan't--as the muggles say--put the cart before the horse." Shifting the bowl of cockroach clusters beside the penseive toward Fabian, Albus offered, "Sweet?" Fabian sat, idly ruffling his hair as he dropped into the sweet. "Cheers," he murmured, taking a handful of the candy and idly popping one into his mouth. Was it just some sort of teacher-y sort of thing that they always seemed to have sugar of some sort at their disposal? Some sort of psychological thing about trust and putting you at ease? Fabian wondered on the point for a moment before refocusing. "Right. Well," he started idly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Despite it being summer, he'd hardly worn short-sleeves except to sleep in, angry at the scars left from Hogsmeade and that he'd been so badly beaten at all. And so extensively. Well. Nevermind. Anyway. "No one deciding it might have been a little important to let us know there's a werewolf with us, that would have been nice," Fabian said finally, and then immediately jumped to defend himself. "And it isn't like I don't know he's still Remus. I get it, I'm not fuc--.... I'm not daft. It's just, you know, that's kind of something you want to know going in and maybe it wouldn't have changed anything, but it'd have been better to hear it from you or Ed or Remus than have it just tossed out there, by Bellatrix Lestrange no less. And so maybe I'm not Mr Fu--..Mr Popular and that's fine but there is a reason people don't like werewolves." He sighed heavily, popping another cluster into his mouth and chewing irritably for a moment. "And it isn't just that, it's just everyone's got a secret and you know what, they're bloody well allowed. But when it has to do with the Order as a group and what we're supposed to stand for and, you know, fucked if--sorry-- if it doesn't matter what the f--.. what James does, but he's more arrogant than me and he's twenty times more obnoxious about it. It's like he thinks whatever rules we do have don't apply to him and sure he lost an arm but that doesn't really give him leave to just run off and possibly get himself killed trying some half-arsed -- sorry -- attempt at rescuing Sirius. What if he'd fu-- screwed up? What if it hadn't worked and none of us would have had any idea and then he'd be dead and none of would have had a clue. He didn't tell anyone and I don't care what he says because it does matter. There's no communication and there's no leadership." Fabian looked accusingly at Dumbledore. "There's no leadership and we don't do anything any more. We haven't helped anyone in ages and instead, we're just pissing and-sorry - and moaning about everything instead of doing something and even when we try it's ineffective. We can't even keep our own families safe any more." By which, he supposed, he couldn't keep Molly safe. Molly and the boys. And there was quite a lot of deep anger and sadness and guilt over the entire event. That he'd lost a nephew and there was nothing he could do about it. And that no one else really seemed to care that his family - what was left of the family he cared about - was being ripped to shreds. "And I don't like any of it," he continued moodily, jaw set and brow furrowed. "I hate it, really, how everyone's just... missing the point. How we're losing and that no one's doing anything about it. And that people are going to die because they think they're bloody well invincible. And that whoever's left is going to be stuck holding the reigns. I don't want to be a part of it if that's how it's going to be. I would rather not know than know and still not be able to do anything about it." So there. Fabian dropped his eyes to the edge of Dumbledore's desk, glaring at it as he chewed on another bit of candy. Albus listened. He understood, certainly the atmosphere surrounding the situation. Hogsmeade had been an overwhelming blow for them all--himself included--emotionally and physically. He also knew that being on what, on the outside, appeared to be the losing side of a blood war, was more stress than success. That mentally, it was an exhausting process to a part of that more often and not seemed both hopeless and to have no end to its misery. Albus was quiet for a moment after Fabian finished speaking, pondering the reality of where they all stood. "I do not disagree with the majority of what you just told me," he said finally, voice even. "I will not apologize for keeping Remus' lycanthrophy a secret, however. I have tried, since he was a child, to make Remus feel that he is supported rather than ostracized for a condition entirely out of his control. It has never been and never will be my responsibility to inform you of something that has nothing to do with me. I do understand that hearing the reality from Bellatrix Lestrange could not have been easy and that, certainly, it would have been a piece of information better explained from Remus himself. But it is entirely situational, and not as though he could have, at that point, told you." Albus paused, then took a deep breath. "The future and it's prospect's are unknown. I cannot pretend to see them, nor do I put much stock in divination. But there are many things at play, that have come into play since I began recruiting for the Order in 1974. We are not the same group that were were then. Our mission statement was considerably more varied. Now... now we are faced with the knowledge of a death eater holding the position of Minister of Magic. A sham government combined with a slow yet consistent parade toward bloodist hysteria. When people are afraid, and when such terrible things have happened--and indeed, with a unhealthy dose of youthful arrogance included--confidence falters. Blind faith that good will triumph over evil... it too, falters. I am no different than the rest of you in that respect. I have my dark moments of doubt. And perhaps you do not want to hear that, nor does anyone else. They wish to be reassured, when, that is not always possible. When old men make mistakes. When I do not--" he chuckled sadly, "--live up to the description of myself on chocolate frog cards." "We all--myself included--need to regroup, and we need to remember what it is we've been fighting for all along. To enervate what passion we've lost, and to start again." Albus paused, watching the contents of the pensieve closely. "I wish to show you a few things, Mr Prewett. If you will let me." Well. That wasn't what he wanted to hear at all. Dumbledore sounded like Ed, and Fabian couldn't even tell him that he was ridiculous and stupid and maybe saving Remus's tender fucking feelings wasn't the most important thing in the world. He irritably shoved the rest of the candy into his mouth, if only to keep himself from shouting. He could shout at Gideon and Dorcas and Ed and just about anyone else. But it was too well ingrained in him to respect Dumbledore. What the hell. Maybe it was the candy. Fabian reached for more. He tried not to be startled by the knowledge that Dumbledore had lost two siblings. Aberforth was one thing. But another? And how long ago? Fabian stomped on the question and instead, tried to listen. It was an impressive feat actually, all things considered. He didn't stop to listen to just anyone. Another moment to fill his mouth with the sweets. Fabian didn't answer right away, suddenly looking highly suspicious. He didn't like being told that he just needed to regroup. Even if it was true. And anyone, Dumbledore - old man or not - was still Dumbledore. So maybe he wasn't bloody well invincible. But he was - supposedly, anyway - their leader. He wiped his hands on his jeans and then gave a curt sort of nod. "All right, then," he agreed finally, eyeing the pensieve with a certain degree of mistrust. He'd never actually seen one of those before. "I feel I must preface by saying that these memories may be a slight disturbing," Albus explained. "Tom Riddle--Voldemort--has always been preoccupied with notions of power and of control. Even as a small child. He was revered by professors while he was a student. He was intelligent and charismatic, and had a loyal group of friends who I don't doubt became him closet supporters. He had everyone convinced that he would be Minister for Magic one day. I admit that he peaked my curiosity, but not for those reasons. I think it will be evident with these memories. There are more. But for now, I will just show you three." Albus bid Fabian closer, instructing the young man to grasp the his left arm, while he used his right to slowly dip his wand into the contents of the basin. The memories followed steadily, and Albus explained each as they went through. First, Tom Riddle as a young child in the orphanage, collecting trophies in the closet, torturing other children and small animals. Parseltongue. The delight he took from using his powers to hurt. The determination to do everything on his own. Next came Horace Slughorn's full memory of Tom, in his seventh year, with his friends, asking his head of house about Horcruxes. Dark magic to split the soul. Preserving a piece of oneself outside of the body. Immortality. Committing murder to create them. Slughorn's unease (and Dumbledore's explanation that it took much persuading to convince Horace to present the memory in full). Finally was the memory given to him by an old Ministry official, visiting the Gaunt home in Little Hangleton. Morfin and his snakes. Marvolo's ring. Merope's outed lusting after the rich, handsome muggle, Tom Riddle. Then they returned to Albus' office. Fabian let go of Dumbledore's arm, jaw clenched as he struggled to take in everything he'd just seen. It was a hell of a lot all at once, and he was silent for a long moment, standing but doing nothing more than staring at the ground. Tom Riddle. Half-blood. The last of Salazar Slytherin's line. Parselmouth. Immortal? It was a lot. It was... Fabian was having a rather difficult time wrapping his head around it. He breathed deep, jaw set tight as he realised his decisions was already made. How could he leave when that was running the country? Remus's furry little problem seemed far off and unimportant. All the fighting and stupid fucking James Potter's preoccupation with... whatever he was so interested in. It was all so much bigger than that. It was bigger than them. Fabian swallowed hard and finally raised his eyes to Dumbledore's. His change of heart was written all over his face. And a rather new determination. And still, he couldn't find anything to say. Nothing that wouldn't sound ridiculous after all of that. It was still dark and swirling in his head, the power Voldemort commanded. It was almost intoxicating, a man like that, who was so powerful. For a moment, Fabian felt like he almost could see Walden's side of things. But that didn't make it right. That didn't make it okay. It was horrifying really. "Okay," he said finally, his voice hardly more than a whisper. Fabian cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. "The house we saw, Tom Riddle's grandfather's home--I believe that we will find one of his horcruxes there," Albus said. "It has been long abandoned. There are more memories that will explain things more clearly that I am able but... another time. For now, if you are willing of course, we go. Do you remember the ring Tom's grandfather was brandishing? The Peverell family ring?" We go? Fabian tried hard not to look alarmed. Both of them? As in... him too? He reached for another handful of cockroach clusters and chewed blindly on them, at least needing something to do with his hands. This was why he handled fucking dragons. He didn't have to be idle. He was really bad at it. At the question, the memory flashed in front of Fabian's eyes. Gold band. Black stone. Yes, he remembered. He nodded. "Yeah," he confirmed between mouthfuls of candy. Merlin's cock, this was definitely not what he'd been expecting. The candy was gone before Fabian could think of anything else and again, he just brushed his hands off. With a certain amount of resolve, he breathed deep and gripped his wand tightly. "Okay. Let's go," he said tightly. "I will take you," Albus said, allowing Fabian to grip his arm again. With a pop, they were gone. They arrived on a dirt road a short distance away from an overrun shack that was covered in weeds gone awry, its windows broken. Though it had clearly not been revisited for some time, magic clung thickly through the air. "Mmm. I think that we will definitely find what we are looking for," Albus said, moving toward the house. The thoughts of the Deathly Hallows still lingered--he had realized, or perhaps deluded himself into believing that the ring did indeed incase the resurrection stone--but perhaps that was why Fabian's help in this was all the more welcome. Albus did not want to be left alone with the temptation to see his siblings and parents again. "I believe that Tom killed his Uncle Morfin here," Albus explained as they walked through the fence and up the overgrown garden path. "And turned his grandfather's ring into a horcrux. I do not believe it was his first. In fact, I believe that Tom is seeking to test the boundaries of magic. How far he has gone, I cannot say. It has been some time since I have seen him myself. But even then he had changed greatly. And I have her disconcerting rumors since." Fabian felt like his nerves were on red fucking alert. He felt like he was breathing old magic as he followed the Professor toward the house. He was convinced it was making him feel mildly nauseous. Or maybe that was just all the candy. Whatever it was, he didn't much like it, and all on their own, his fingers adjusted around his wand. Just in case. It made him slightly fidgety and nervous and every shadow seemed to move. And still he followed, eyes sweeping the grass for any disturbance beyond the breath of wind. Through the front door, and Fabian wrinkled his nose at the smell. Like it or not, he was bred for some sort of cleanliness, though his mess of a bedroom suggested otherwise. But never had it come remotely close to this. Abandoned and stuffy, Fabian eyed the thick cobwebs, the grime covering the floor and the walls. He couldn't help but be a bit disgusted. And ultimately creeped out. "Ew," he muttered, eyeing the room. "It was not much better when it was used," Albus said, thinking back to the memory, to the dead snake nailed to the door. It was most definitely here, buried in the must and mold. "Look carefully," he instructed, not doubting the possibility of a trap. The worst, he anticipated, would be a ward dependent on the purity of blood, though with the two of them there he hoped most sincerely that it would not be a problem. Fabian nodded and took a moment to search. The idea occurred to him that he might be able to use a summoning charm, and fleeting the idea of going Accio horcrux was nearly laughable. Except for the part where it might actually kill him. That would be terribly inconvenient. So instead, he rummaged around in drawers, wiping his hands on his jeans every couple of minutes because of the pure disgust he had for the dirt and dust and whatever-the-fuck-else on his skin. Most of the drawers were empty. The occasional knick-knack, dust ball... cockroach. Fabian shut that drawer rather harder than he intended, wrinkling his nose as he wiped his hands on his shirt. Gross. Really. "I don't suppose you have any ideas, do you Professor?" he called, ignoring a spider as it scuttled over a cabinet. Maybe it'd eat the cockroach. "I doubt it is anywhere particularly dangerous, more likely among the rubble than set away neatly. He would not want to draw attention to it." Albus moved carefully and quietly, fingers touching the grimy walls as he followed the heavy weight of magic a little further into the ramshackle dwelling. At some point a portion of the roof had caved in--portions of the floor were soaked and warped, and piles of leaves and dirt had been blown into corners. The centre of the radiating magic seemed to be coming from below them, like a heart beat, calling out for there attention. Disturbing, Albus thought idly, bending to his knees and touching the floor. He could feel it there and yet could sense nothing between himself and it. No wards. "I believe I have found it," he said, pulling out his wand and using it to pry back one of the loose, warped planks of wood, revealing, underneath, in plain sight (merely dirty and dusty), Marvolo Gaunt's ring. Quickly Albus cast several charms to test for any hexes that may have been laid to protect the ring. Even the most complex spells for the task Albus knew showed nothing. The beating and thick old magic must have been the horcrux itself. Albus reached for it. Nothing happened. He studied it for a moment before rising to his feet. The mark of the Deathly Hallows, of the Peverell brothers. The Elder Wand, the Invisibility Cloak, and the Resurrection Stone. And here the stone was in his hand, Albus was sure of it. The great quest he and Gellert had talked in such detail about those many, many years ago. Better days. He could see his mother and father again, Arianna and Aberforth. He could have them back. Impulsively, Albus slid the ring on his finger. It was then that the curse showed itself. Black veins were spun from the heart of the ring, climbing over Albus' skin painfully. It was spreading quickly. The headmaster's hopeful moment quickly became a frightening one, as the curse seemed to almost tighten the ring around his finger, making it impossible to just remove. Albus was losing feeling in his hand, and the curse was moving up his arm with purpose. He reached for the wand he'd returned to it's holder with his left hand, fumbling as he was not ambidextrous. Fabian made his way through the cottage to the headmaster, just in time to see him pull the ring from under the floorboard. He loitered in the doorway for a moment, not trusting himself to get too close. He could feel it now too, the pulsing of the magic that he'd only just been sort of reading about an hour ago. Not this obviously. But this brand of magic. This magic that could hurt people if you were willing to let it consume you a little. He watched the Professor slip it onto his finger and then, with some degree of horror, could only stare at what happened. It was a moment before he broke away, closing the distance between them to force the ring off of Albus if he had to. To make those disgusting black tendrils just stop. Dimly he was aware of his wand in his hand. Spell, spell, spell. He froze for a moment, spells flying through his head, but none of them were actually useful for this situation. Finally though, far more recent. Yesterday even. Flipping through that damned book and pausing to read. "Scelerus migrus," he snapped finally, jabbing at the ring with his wand. Slowly, the black tendrils moved. Away from the Headmaster certainly. But closer to Fabian's wand. He grit his teeth and let it slowly wrap over his wand, thick and black and in his wand. The wood felt ice cold in his fingers and physically, he suddenly felt drained. Which wasn't really okay, all things considered. He couldn't concentrate on anything but drawing it out like poison, out of the ring and into... well into what, he wasn't sure. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure exactly this spell was actually supposed to do, except that he felt cold all over and his wand felt heavy. Well this wasn't fun. Albus' watched Fabian blindly for a moment, his entire being feeling as cold as ice (the tendrils halfway up his arm), before realizing exactly what it was that the younger man had cast. Dark magic. And as the blackness seeped into Fabian's wand and out of Albus' hand and arm, the Headmaster gripped firmly on his wand with his opposite hand and used what energy he could manage (despite the receding veins, Albus still felt odd and worn; older) to silently cast a spell that acted quick similarly to a muggle vacuum cleaner. If took hold of the curse and ripped it bodily away from Fabian's wand. It was enough that Albus was able to remove the ring, holding it in the palm of his left hand. Blackness still lingered on his fingers, though the vacuum spell had sucked both the curse and itself into an abyss. He surveyed it critically. "Odd," he said, the worn feeling still here. He couldn't move his fingers. This could not bode well. The curse was sucked unwillingly away from him and when it was gone, it left Fabian feeling cold and empty and not good at all. He was tired and he felt like he'd been awake for days and wrestling dragons the entire time. Drained. Still, all his fingers were in working order and he looked critically at the Headmaster's hand. "Dig can probably fix it..." he said softly, suddenly feeling mildly sick. He rubbed at his eyes and eyed the ring. "So I guess... that's probably it." Albus looked away from his fingers and at the ring. "It will have to be destroyed. I am uncertain as to how, but I have several possibilities to try," he said, then looked up a Fabian, one white eyebrow raised slightly. "Interesting choice of magic, Mr Prewett." Fabian refused to meet the professor's eyes, choosing instead to stare at the leaf-strewn ground. If he'd been feeling any better, he'd have jumped to his own defence, sounding probably, very much like James Potter in that at least it had worked. Kind of. Neither of them was dead. Which was a start. "Can we leave?" he asked finally, pulling the arms of his shirt tighter around his hands and fingers. "I don't like it here." And he didn't. Not a bit. He was cold. Albus nodded. The lack of feeling in his fingers was both alarming and mildly perplexing. While he had most certainly seen dark magic of the like in his lifetime, he had never seen it spread like venom in such a manner. Still he eyed Fabian carefully, seeing the aftereffects of using magic that one did not understand. "Thank you," he said first, and quite sincerely, for who knew what the result would have been had Albus been unable to stop the process itself? Then, "The cold is from the magic. You are unused to it--dark magic is a branch which requires emotions that religious sects of muggles would consider polluting: Anger, lust, passion, loathing, hatred... I was unaware that you were studying it, Mr Prewett. If a means of combating the death eaters is your intention, then there are other methods of study that do not require embracing such taxing emotions. More of which, similarly to the patronus charm, rely on the the power of, however perhaps romantic and fool-hardy it may sound, love and happiness." Again, Fabian was stubbornly silent. Love and happiness. Right. Because he was just fucking thrilled with his life right now. And when was the last time he'd been able to cast a patronus? He could scarcely remember. His jaw set, Fabian wrapped his arms slightly more tightly around himself, in hopes of making the deadly ice that had set in his chest go away. Godric, he was tired. For a moment, his eyes lingered on the ring and he shuddered. That was one road he would never go down. And that was a promise to himself. "...Professor, d'you think I could... sleep in the Hospital Wing for a couple hours?" He rubbed at his eyes. "I just don't want to splinch trying to get home," he explained quickly. He wasn't going to talk about the damn magic right now. There was nothing to say anyway. So he'd been caught. And he didn't feel remotely good about it. He still just wanted to sleep. "Of course. A pepper-up or similar would likely aid with the cold and tiredness," Albus replied as they returned to the dirt road outside of the dishelved shack. He held out his arm to side-along apparate the two of them back to his office (a temporary exception to the Hogwarts apparation rule that he had added to the wards for that evening). "Perhaps we will discuss this more at another time." Fabian nodded, still casting wary glances at the ring. "Yeah maybe," he murmured. And even here, he felt bloody freezing. Right down to his bones. He cast an eye at the fire, knowing he could floo back and Gideon probably wouldn't even have noticed he'd been gone yet. Speaking of, how long had he been? It had been dark when he'd left and was just as dark now. Fabian glanced at his watch and frowned. Okay. So maybe Gideon had noticed he'd been gone by now. If he wasn't immersed in ridiculous wedding plans. In any case, it was nearly midnight and Fabian decided for a moment, that that was why he was tired. Which was complete rubbish, but was better than admitting that he didn't know what the hell he was doing with dark magic. "Good night, Professor," he mumbled with a vague sort of wave, and then made his way down the infirmary. He didn't want to explain anything to the nurse, so he simply kicked his shoes off and curled up in the first bed. It wasn't like she was going to kick him out. He hoped. |