discontinued, re-write titled "Mind Over Matter"
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Liliana sank into her bed, eyes closed as her thoughts raced and ventured through the chasms of her mind.
"Control your emotions," they'd warned, "for they will break you if you're not caref...
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"I WAS WRONG..."
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Albus Dumbledore spent the winter of 1980 tucked away in a small locked tower. The lone window within overlooked the Hogwarts courtyard; outside, the trees were coated with fresh snow, their bare branches swayed in the amassing winds that rang like melancholy in the cobbled structure.
The tower Albus spent his hours in protected valuable relics to wizarding kind, relics of fate known as the book of admittance and quill of acceptance, the sole decision makers in naming witches and wizards. They had a tedious selection process, but never in their history had they chosen incorrectly.
On a perch, untouched by human hands, the peeling book and silver ink pot rested patiently. Once they detected traces of magic in a promising young witch or wizard, the delicate feather protruding from the pot would write their name, cementing it in the books yellowing pages.
In separate, duplicated books that were kept on shelves that lined the tower, the pair's choices could be found; they were bookmarked by year, and listed the date of selection, name, blood status, and birthday of the chosen witch or wizard. Albus Dumbledore spent his hours searching between the records of 1978 and 1980.
"Still at it, Albus?" a voice asked from the doorway.
Albus looked up from the thick record of 1979 and nodded, a zealous twinkle in his eyes. Minerva McGonagall, his colleague, sighed, her irritation doubling in the echoey room.
"It's been days," she pointed out, concerned. "Aren't you tired?"
"I can come by sleep when the search is over," he said unrelentingly.
The woman rubbed her temple, weary with the man in half-moon spectacles. "And when will that be?" she asked. "It's been days, Albus, days since Lyra visited, and I - I don't think you'll find what she foretold."
"Why is that?" Albus said, looking up so suddenly his spectacles slid below the bridge of his nose. "Is it that you do not trust Lyra?"
Minerva was taken aback. "What are you trying to insinuate?" Lyra had been one of her most brilliant students - a girl with a dedication beyond the stars.
"Only that you may hold doubt on how truthful her prophecy is," he said calmly, pushing his spectacles back up his nose. "Doubt that I understand," he clarified, noticing her eyebrows raise in defiance. "I know the branch of Divination has always felt imprecise to you, but Lyra has proven capable of more than just -"
"Wooly Magic?" Minerva offered, adjusting her own spectacles. Albus nodded, flipping a page. "Yes, I understand that, but what she has pronounced -"
"May hold truth, whenever it is to be found. And I assure you, it will be."
Minerva didn't doubt it; Albus Dumbledore was a very persistent man.
The old headmaster flipped another page, reaching the list of "G" surnames. His blue eyes continued to scan the page, and annoyance started to well inside Minerva with every piece of parchment that rustled.
"I am sorry, Albus, but you are wasting your time!" she burst, her annoyance thinning to a snap. "Yes, there may be a witch, but what Lyra speaks of is unfathomable! And in the slim odds that it is in the Hall of Prophecies, we cannot drop everything to check. We are amidst a war, and such probabilities must wait!
Albus remained calm despite the growing tensions. He turned to his colleague and said, "A war that will end, and be it we never see it again."
"And you know this how?" Minerva asked, brows knitted.
He smiled. "Intuition."
Minerva scoffed. She greatly respected the man in front of her, but at times he remained too optimistic for his own good. And she candidly told him so.
"I understand," he said with a small nod. "But at times, optimism is our way out of the darkness." He beckoned her to come view the book, and she warily walked over. "Like so" - he placed his wand over the page and a silver stream seeped out; it illuminated a symbol beside a name.
Minerva's breath hitched. "Is that - ?" but she didn't need to ask, because deep down she knew. "I was wrong..." she admitted, her voice barely a whisper, "...what Lyra prophesied... it's true."
"I'm afraid that the stars have deemed it so, Minerva," Albus agreed darkly, a heaviness in his typically bright eyes. "Her fate has been decided and the best we can do is guide her."
"But she won't understand..." Minerva said, suddenly pacing the room, "... the things she can do, the things she must face... she is only a child, Albus..."
"I know, but we cannot change what has been promised." He sighed. "My hands are tied."
Minerva's mind wandered back to the name, the prophecy echoing in her ears. She envisioned a young girl, small and untouched by the dangers of the world, and her heart broke at knowing what troubles lay ahead of her.
"But mine are not," she suddenly decided, a steely glint in her eyes. "I promise to prepare her... to protect her."
Albus stared at her a moment, then smiled. "I don't doubt it."
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(A/N)
- HELLOOO and WELCOME!! 'tis the beginning of what will be a good, long seven years :)
