A Dance Through Thyme (Harry Potter)

Ausgetrickst Part 4

Part 4: Dumbledore

Not bothering to fight with the furniture any longer, Dumbledore used his wand to remove the drawer from its place. Even standing several feet away, he could see a faint green glow emanating from it in the darkness of the room.

The heels of his boots echoed across the shack as he stepped towards the ring.

After years of searching, it would finally be his. He could apologise to Mother and to Ariana. It would bring him closer to Aberforth, and all would finally be right in the world.

Or would it?

He still would have made all those mistakes in his youth, and bringing back his family would do nothing to atone to his sins.

The voice of reason slowly emerged from the vacuous part of his brain. The more he gave it attention, the stronger it grew.

He pointed his wand at the ring, and wordlessly levitated it so that it would be in front of his face. Peering at the magical object, a myriad of thoughts flickered in and out of his mind.

How could one ring cause so much trouble?

Even more, how could he still be so tempted by it? Surely, he had moved past this childish stage of his life where he lost his inhibitions and self-control?

It was time to put the play-things away.

He slowly lowered his wand, thereby depositing the ring on the shelf of the dresser; but his eyes now landed on the wand itself.

An elder wand, as evaluated by Ollivander. There was far too much evidence for there to be a coincidence. What if this was the Elder Wand. This was the wand that had been made legendary by folklore.

He had the wand. 

He now had the stone.

All that was needed was the cloak of invisibility, the the trio would be complete. They were here in the room. All he had to do was reach out and grab it.

Without any conscious effort, it seemed, his hand began to inch forward. The tiniest amount of skin touched the edge of the metal, and instantly, an intense heat began to permeate his skin. With the uninjured hand, he pulled back the sleeve of his robe to see black lines encircling and twisting their way up his arm. His veins had turned to ash underneath his skin.

Although he did not notice the pain at first, his whole arm was throbbing with increasing intensity. A number of sharp pains were shooting upwards from his hand where his finger had touched the ring.

He needed to see Regulus and Severus. They would be able to help him. 

And Hermione.

She would have the answer. She always did.

He needed the Headquarters of the Order. Everyone would be there and waiting for him.

A sense of shame flowed through him as he thought this. The others had counted on him getting the ring back to them safely so that it could be destroyed. It was evil; and here he was, tempted by it.

Tom Riddle always did know how to play to the weakness of his opponents.

With his good hand, he swirled his wand in the air. A velvet pouch appeared on the dresser in front of him, and with a bit of clever wand-work, Dumbledore was able to secure the ring in the pouch and hide it amongst his robes.

Stepping out of the dilapidated shack, he turned on the spot and vanished, as if he had never been there at all.

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