Post by silvertabby on Aug 11, 2008 9:17:32 GMT -5
The resurection stone
The resurrection fuck, oh, yea. Dumbledore’s first mistake I lived, not the only one, the only one we saw, clearly, before us. No denial, no way out. Human, and he made a mistake, yes.
The night started badly, eary , unwell. He called us up, Dumbledore, before he left. To what? To wait, ‘As If we wouldn’t have done anyway!’ was what McGonagall had said to him offended, crossing her arms. It was 11 in the night, I think, well, I can’t remember exactly. But I remember how he left and Minerva and I watched him go.
There was no pleasure nor any purpose as far as I thought, in waiting in his office, with a sour McGonagall, clearly angry and offended just as I was my self.
We did not talk.
The study was dimly lit, the sky was dark blue, and Fawkes was not there.
The silence , worried silence, angry silence waiting, there was no point in saying anything at all. I believe ‘Why did the bloody old man call upon us and request of us to stay here, if he didn’t think us worthy of knowing everything?’ would have sounded really stupid out of either of us. So there was nothing else to say.
Tonight it was different, I could feel, the silence, was different, and I could tell, Minerva did as well. And I think Dumbledore too, when he left, he was…excited, worried, fearfully different. An emotion I never saw in him. Perhaps SHE did, McGonagall, but I didn’t ask her. I didn’t dear. She had been my teacher after all, It was not of me to ask her such questions.
I watched the sky, but it didn’t calm me down, it did nothing but make the strange feeling worse, grow.
The large wooden desk, the chair at its place, the lamps, only half of them lit. Fawkes’s empty perch, deserted, all those silvery nonsense of HIS puffing away unbothered…unwell, abnormal, yet still it was the same.
My own once teacher, with her legs crossed, sitting before me, not saying anything to me, nothing reassuring, nothing at all. Just taping her fingers on the desk waiting for the man who was her mentor, and who had once been her own teacher. Just like she was seeking reassurance in Dumbledore, I was seeking myself reassurance in her, and that very second I knew, yes I did, that tonight, neither of us was going to find it.
The resurrection fuck, oh, yea. Dumbledore’s first mistake I lived, not the only one, the only one we saw, clearly, before us. No denial, no way out. Human, and he made a mistake, yes.
The night started badly, eary , unwell. He called us up, Dumbledore, before he left. To what? To wait, ‘As If we wouldn’t have done anyway!’ was what McGonagall had said to him offended, crossing her arms. It was 11 in the night, I think, well, I can’t remember exactly. But I remember how he left and Minerva and I watched him go.
There was no pleasure nor any purpose as far as I thought, in waiting in his office, with a sour McGonagall, clearly angry and offended just as I was my self.
We did not talk.
The study was dimly lit, the sky was dark blue, and Fawkes was not there.
The silence , worried silence, angry silence waiting, there was no point in saying anything at all. I believe ‘Why did the bloody old man call upon us and request of us to stay here, if he didn’t think us worthy of knowing everything?’ would have sounded really stupid out of either of us. So there was nothing else to say.
Tonight it was different, I could feel, the silence, was different, and I could tell, Minerva did as well. And I think Dumbledore too, when he left, he was…excited, worried, fearfully different. An emotion I never saw in him. Perhaps SHE did, McGonagall, but I didn’t ask her. I didn’t dear. She had been my teacher after all, It was not of me to ask her such questions.
I watched the sky, but it didn’t calm me down, it did nothing but make the strange feeling worse, grow.
The large wooden desk, the chair at its place, the lamps, only half of them lit. Fawkes’s empty perch, deserted, all those silvery nonsense of HIS puffing away unbothered…unwell, abnormal, yet still it was the same.
My own once teacher, with her legs crossed, sitting before me, not saying anything to me, nothing reassuring, nothing at all. Just taping her fingers on the desk waiting for the man who was her mentor, and who had once been her own teacher. Just like she was seeking reassurance in Dumbledore, I was seeking myself reassurance in her, and that very second I knew, yes I did, that tonight, neither of us was going to find it.
