Shadow of Legacy

Professor Kershaw

I ran.

I didn't stop to think—didn't even allow myself to breathe until I was almost at the door to Dumbledore's office. My feet pounded against the stone floors, the echo of each step a sharp reminder of what I had just seen. I barely noticed the portraits as I flew past them, the eyes of past headmasters following my frantic movements, but I couldn't afford to care. The weight of the encounter—the image of Voldemort's red eyes, the rasp of his voice—was still searing in my mind, burning through my thoughts like wildfire. I had to get to him. I had to tell him.

Dumbledore had to know.

I reached the door, hands trembling as I threw it open. I was gasping for breath, my heart hammering against my ribcage. I couldn't speak at first—couldn't make the words come out. But I had to.

"He... He's back," I finally managed, the words tumbling out in a rush of panic and disbelief. I stood there, wide-eyed, shaking, my chest heaving with the effort of the sprint. "Voldemort... he returned."Dumbledore was standing by the fire, his back to me, a calm presence in the midst of my chaos. He did not turn immediately, as though processing my words without flinching. But the instant the words left my lips, I saw his shoulders tense. His back straightened, and the faintest flicker of something cold passed across his features.

Without a word, he raised his hand, a silent command that had Snape's presence filling the room a moment later. Severus Snape appeared in the doorway, his expression as unreadable as ever, his dark eyes glinting with something—dread, perhaps?—that seemed to seep into the air.

Dumbledore's voice was steady but tinged with an undercurrent of urgency. "Alvira, what happened?"

I swallowed hard, the events of the night played in my mind like a horrible, slow-motion replay. The mirror, the whispers, the reflection of Voldemort—it felt like I had only just escaped his grasp.

"I—" My voice cracked, but I forced myself to continue, to say it aloud. "I saw him. In the mirror. It was him. I heard his voice. He called to me. He knew my name... he said I was meant to join him. That I was... that I was chosen."I could see the shift in Dumbledore's posture, the way his eyes grew cold, as though the very name of the Dark Lord caused him physical pain. His hands clasped behind his back, and he tilted his head slightly as if processing everything I had just said.

But before he could speak, Snape stepped forward, his gaze narrowing, an unsettling calm settling over him. "It seems our worst fears have come to pass." His voice was like ice, smooth but carrying a weight of something darker beneath. "The Dark Lord is calling for us."The words hung in the air, suffocating and final. And then, as if on cue, Snape's expression tightened, and I saw the familiar flicker of pain flash across his face—sharp and sudden. His hand moved almost instinctively to his forearm, and I knew what had happened even before he spoke.

"My Mark—" Snape hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes closing briefly as though the pain was a physical weight he was struggling to carry. "He is summoning us."
I looked between Dumbledore and Snape, my heart in my throat. There was no mistaking it now. Voldemort's return was not just a nightmare. It was real, and the dark magic was already flowing, pulling everyone back into his orbit. Dumbledore's voice was grave, though it carried that familiar thread of command. "Then we must act swiftly. The moment is upon us."The fire crackled in the hearth, but the warmth it should have provided was lost, absorbed by the shadows that clung to the walls. I didn't know what to say. The words I had spoken felt too small, too weak against the enormity of what was happening. How could I possibly be part of this? Part of his world?

Snape's voice broke the silence, cold as always, yet with a bite of something darker underneath. "Dumbledore," he said, his eyes still fixed on the mark that burned on his arm, "It is time."