The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing and should therefore be treated with great caution.

[manwithstyle]

It was gone. He had suspected it would, of course, but still he had rather hoped that once, just this once, he could have been wrong. This was not, it seemed, to be the case.

Albus Dumbledore had lost his magic for the second time in a month.

However, he was not given to sulking as he found that behaviour unseemly and so he sought distraction in its stead. And yet he was hardly in the mood to do much of anything at that moment. The idea of returning to his research pained him in a way he could not fully understand and the piano he knew would offer no solace at that present juncture.

It was in this state of mind that he approached the bookshelf. His long fingers brushed against the spines and he contemplated the selection before him. His eyes caught on a particular name, Potter, and, intrigued, he pulled it from the shelf. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone it declared itself in a large yellow typeset. It appeared to be, for all intents and purposes, a children’s book and with sudden realization, Albus knew this to be part of the series of novels that Bartemius had mentioned upon his arrival. In quick succession he found the rest: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and lastly, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It was the final title that made him take pause but Albus was a patient man by nature and so he decided it best to read the books in the prescribed order.

And so he read.

His older self had arrived on the scene much earlier than he would have suspected, scarcely a few pages in and there he was, resplendent in his age and eccentricity. He nearly laughed aloud at the description. Himself as an old man with a crooked nose and an interesting scar, dropping off the baby – The Boy Who Lived – that had brought about the destruction of the man sitting downstairs, one Mr. Riddle.

Fascinating.

And that, in reality, was the word that kept cropping up. Fascinating, absolutely fascinating. Thousands of pages of fascinating.

And when he was done, when all the pieces had fallen into place, when his self was long dead and buried, he left from his chair in the Rec Room, the first time he had done so for any extended amount of time in over twenty-four hours, and headed down to the beach, books in hand.

It was, after all, an awful lot to process.

Comments

[manwithstyle]

Albus laughed shortly.

"In some ways, yes, in others, no. I do believe he felt guilt moreso than he did change. After all, I would hardly call hitting Muggles about the head with teacups standard practice for someone truly believing in equality for all."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

Barty considered that with a vaguely approving sort of expression.

"Fair enough," he said, looking out at the sea. "I won't ask you guilt over what."

[manwithstyle]

"No, but I would assume that you will discover why shortly," said Albus knowingly. "You are free, of course, to borrow my copies."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"I think the shelf would be only too glad to supply me with my own," Barty said, "as it enjoys offering things that have the potential to...upset."

[manwithstyle]

"It does, doesn't it?" sighed Albus. His voice was quiet, absent and his eyes were not focused on any particular point. Games aside, tricks forgotten, intellectual curiosity satisfied, fascinating was, in reality, a rather friendly way of saying horrifying.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

Barty dragged the knuckle of his thumb across his forehead.

"I feel like I'm going through withdrawal," he muttered.

[manwithstyle]

"Hmm, yes," agreed Albus maintaining the same maddeningly absent air. "In fact, I might go so far to say that I rather feel as though I've lost a limb. Perhaps several."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"I'd liken it to losing my soul," Barty said, starting at the sand between his feet, "but that might be tacky in light of my fate."

[manwithstyle]

Albus laughed shortly. He shook his head and smoothed a raised eyebrow with his index finger before he settled once more into his absent stare.

"Do you believe in Divination, Bartemius?" he asked after a moment.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"No," Barty answered immediately and bluntly, "though according to those books, it doesn't matter if I believe in i tor not as it is, on extremely rare occasions, valid."

[manwithstyle]

"Nor do I," said Albus thoughtfully. "And do you like being told what to do?"

He suspected he knew the answer to the question but what he was about to say required a certain amount of set-up.

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

Barty shot Albus a look, because the answer to that was fairly obvious.

"No," he said firmly, and then his lips twisted until they were in the semblance of a smile, and he mused, "but I like doing what I'm told. Hmmn."

[manwithstyle]

"I thought as much," replied Albus, his tone wry as he matched Bartemius's semblance of a smile with his own before he returned his attention elsewhere. "I, however, do not care for either. To be told what to do, to be...dominated by my future..." He picked up the book at the top of the pile, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, and turned it in his hands. "To be told what I am to do in such explicit detail, well, I am rather inclined to do precisely the opposite as a matter of principle."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"Well, I heartily condone your inclination," Barty said, straightening slightly and giving Albus one firm nod.

[manwithstyle]

"I do seem to recall regaling you with my dislike for sycophants," Albus replied, mouth quirking. He slowly turned his head and regarded Bartemius carefully, searching his face for something he could not quite put a name on before he once more looked out at the ocean.

"Although I do believe you sincere in that particular sentiment."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"Of course I am," Barty said, looking back ahead, and sighed. "As you've seen, the path your older self chooses is hardly conducive to us remaining- friends." The pause was fractional. It was their word, now, and it seemed to encompass any number of sins as well as a genuine camaraderie.

[manwithstyle]

There were times when Albus genuinely did not know whether or not Bartemius was lying and that moment certainly qualified.

"Perhaps," he admitted quietly, not betraying his uncertainty. "Of course, it would appear that I look to unconventional places for friendship regardless of age."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"True enough," Barty murmured. "I'd say your tendency toward the unconventional doesn't leave you in the coming years." He was quiet for another stretch, then fell back in the sand, staring up at the sky.

[manwithstyle]

"Much to the chagrin of the Minister for Magic," Albus said, a hint of a laugh colouring his words. "Both of them."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"Any idea why you never became Minister?" Barty asked. His father had had his own theories, of course, but Barty didn't put much stock by them.

[manwithstyle]

"Guilt," supplied Albus contemptuously. He sighed and ran his fingers through the sand, enjoying the coarse feeling before he found a round, smooth rock."Guilt for the sins of my arrogance." He laughed bitterly and rubbed the smooth surface of the rock with his thumb before he suddenly threw it with remarkable force. "Should I have continued in my proper time-line, on the day after my departure I may or may not have been the cause..." He trailed off, eyes closing briefly as he collected himself and continued, "...the cause of sister's untimely demise." He made a sharp sort of flourish with his hand and said, "Epiphany. I missed it by mere hours."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"How sad," Barty remarked quietly, because it was, genuinely. For so great a mind, so boundless a talent to be hindered by something like guilt was possibly the saddest thing he'd ever heard. How different the world would have been by the tie of his birth.

"And I mere hours from arrest and descent into madness. Funny old world, isn't it," he murmured, carefully enunciating the old plebe turn of phrase.

[manwithstyle]

"I hated them," he stated plainly. "My family, that is."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

Barty blinked, looking over and up at the other wizard.

"...The brilliant often do. I murder my father and turn him into a bone to be buried in the yard. What does that tell you about our relationship. It's nothing to feel guilty about, hating them," he added, looking down again.

"It's not as if you set out to do so. It's a product of their actions and behaviors."

[manwithstyle]

"Your father, however, was a madman," replied Albus darkly. "My family was only guilty of dying at the most inopportune of times. Albus Dumbledore, the most brilliant wizard Hogwarts had ever seen, the world in his palm, stuck as a nanny."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"My father was a madman," Barty agreed softly. He brushed some sand from out of his hair.

"Ah, resentment. Provides endless fuel for one's endeavors."

[manwithstyle]

"But not mine," sighed Albus, putting his face in his hands before he looked blearily outwards. "Or rather, not the endeavours of the Headmaster."

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"I never drank firewhiskey," Barty said.

"I could start, though."

[manwithstyle]

It was the sort of segue he often made himself and so Albus's mouth curved into a half-smile. "And where do you plan on acquiring said firewhiskey?"

[selfmade-crouch.livejournal.com]

"Stealing it at the first opportunity," Barty said, smirking, and looking back at Albus, "that presents itself."

[manwithstyle]

"I do not imagine that firewhiskey is readily available on this desolate rock," said Albus, matching Bartemius's smirk with his own. "Unless, of course, you already know of its whereabouts. Thus the question remains of who managed to leave our world with so precious a commodity?"