The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix Part Three

CXXX: Sea Air and Caledonian Sandalwood

Dumbledore,

If Remus Lupin is harmed in any way by whatever it is you've got him off to do, when I am finished with Voldemort, I swear on Merlin's left nut that I will come for you next.

S.O.B.

Mr. Black,

I assure you that I am taking the best of care to assist Mr. Lupin in his current situation. If you will simply reach out and allow me to, I will help you in anyway that I am able to as well.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Dumbledore folded the parchment and slid it into an envelope, turned it over and pressed the wax seal down.

"Can't you help him?"

Across the room, Fawkes sat upon his perch near the glowing armoire that held the pensieve and the impressive collection of memories which Dumbledore had acquired over the years. The bird was grey and tendrils smoke rose up from his wings, gently floating into the air above him. His tail feathers had already gone ashen and were falling like snow to the tray below.

"He is come upon time for a burning," murmured Dumbledore.

Hovering beside the Phoenix, nearly as transparent as the smoke rising from the wings of the great bird, was a ghostly form, vague in his grey appearance, semi-transparent with the slightest green-blue tinge of a specter.

Dumbledore didn't even look up from the envelope on his desk, muttering to himself about the audacity of Sirius Black - to have such harsh words to say to him, the Albus Dumbledore, the man who was giving so much to save the Wizarding World... with no helps from the likes of Sirius, whose escape had seemed only to accelerate rumors, making it harder to find the thin lines between truth and lie. If it were not for Dumbledore's work, the entire Wizarding World might fall apart at the seams, be torn apart, rather, by the work of the hands of Voldemort - or, rather, the powers behind him, which boded far more strong than the Dark Lord himself. And what thanks did he, Dumbledore, get for it? Empty threats hastily sworn on the nether regions of ancient wizards?

"Isn't there something you can do to make it easier for him to start the burning?"

"He will burn when it is time," Dumbledore said.

"It just looks so painful."

"He's quite well, Master Regulus," Dumbledore's voice.

"He doesn't look quite well, sir."

"I assure you that he is," Dumbledore replied, his voice firm, final.

Regulus stared at him with eyes that, even in his semi-transparent state, were dark and filled with emotion. The Headmaster opened his mouth to say something but was cut off when there was a knock on the door. Frowning at the interruption, Dumbledore stood, "Until next time, Mr. Black," he said. Regulus opened his mouth to protest, but with quick roll of the stone between his finger tips and the form of Regulus was gone. "Come in!" Dumbledore called.

It was Sybil Trelawney, wrapped in her myriad of shawls, her hair extra frizzy today as though she'd only just awoken, though Dumbledore knew she must have come from the grounds, where he'd spotted her through the window no less than ten minutes prior, emerging from the edge of the forrest with her sixth year Divination students.

"Professor, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Dumbledore asked the simpering woman whose bony features were sharp and protruding as she stepped wobbily across the room and set herself into the chair opposite of Dumbledore's desk.