InsaneJournal

August 28, 1996 - Finally Settling In?
Who: Albus Dumbledore
Where: various locations; Headmaster's Office
When: late evening August 28th, 1996. (*cough*)
Rating: Assumed PG. Possibly PG-13. Will advise.
Invasion: Professors only. I heard there was a Snape around who wanted to talk maybe? And I think Minerva was pulling her hair out a few days ago? Could do separate trees, or everybody talking at once, your call.

Status: Limited, ongoing
Summary: Dumbledore returns to Hogwarts after a long think and has a discussion with Sevuerus Snape, covering most important topics, including but not limited to: Snape's distaste of Lily's position as his assistant, Draco's task to kill Dumbledore, and Voldemort's recent appearance change.



Dumbledore settled himself behind his desk with a soft sigh, offering a brief smile in Fawkes direction, and for the first time in days he truly felt like he was settled. He'd been managing to just stop in at the castle a few times over the past few days, but he hadn't really stayed. There had been far too much to do. He thought that he'd managed to get Merope settled in, and he had managed a brief conversation here and there – he'd felt he owed it to Lily to speak with her, and he had felt all but ambushed by Minerva, which amused him slightly – but nothing proper. Nothing in depth, at least not really. Truthfully, he'd been avoiding it desperately.

The professor that he had had lined up for Defence Against the Dark Arts had fallen through, again – the spirits must have had been feeling merciful toward the man, or perhaps thought that he had suffered enough in his lifetime – and he'd been sent scrambling to find a new one before he had opted to throw his hands up in the air and see if that helped him at all.

Though riding the Knight Bus had gotten him little more than an upset stomach, and no new ideas. It had given him a bit of time to think through, however. Specifically... to wonder about the recent stir of events.

At the end of the day, it all came down to a simple absolute truth – people did not, could not return from the dead. Not in the way it seemed to have happened. Oh certainly, there were stories and there were some small truths. The Hallows, of course, one of which was still safely tucked away in his pocket, were rumoured to be able to do a great many terrible things. And certainly there was the occasional green horn that managed something terrible.

But neither Merope nor Lily had not had rotting flesh falling from their skin. Nor had either seemed to have suffered any mysterious side effects. They had simply had their lives restored to them, from the point where they had left it.

Ah, so was that the key? Was he looking at it backwards? These people had not returned from the dead, they had merely had their lives restored to them?

He muddled over that for a moment. A restoration spell. Unheard of, as far as he knew. At least in this context. But it wasn't impossible. He had learned that in order to be great, and to be capable of great things, one must accept that nothing in this world was truly impossible. You just had to find the backwards way of thinking about it.

He hadn't gotten nearly enough done – he had been meaning to track down Horace and have a conversation with him before he really got into the nit and gritty with this ring he had... well, for all intents and purposes - stolen from the Gaunt's residence – but the increasing stack of owls informed him that he may have to expect a Howler if he didn't return soon – or at least acknowledge one of them. He realized this decision had occurred rather rapidly after his realization. It was as though he had been waiting until he had an explanation for them before he had been able to brace going back.

Not a moment too soon, either – he imagined that the students would be arriving any day now. He wondered if poor Harry really knew what to expect Really, he had to see about mending this riff that he seemed to have created with time. Was it his endless insisting on playing with it that grated on its nerves? Ah well. There wasn't much he could do about that now.

Knowing that they would hear of his presence in the school with or without his summoning them, and likely they'd have more than a few things they wished to speak with him about, Albus didn't bother sending out any sort of alerts. He'd retreated to his office, stroked Fawkes feathers lightly, greeted and silenced the babbling portraits with a small nod of his head, and seated himself behind the desk to wait for his questioners. In a moment's afterthought, he reached for his quill and began to pen another owl to Horace – perhaps he would have stopped long enough to receive it this time. It was always nice to have proof of your suspicions, after all. And the horcruxes still took precedence over this odd turn of events in regards to the restoration of unlived lives.

Ah, but it was good to be back.