September 8, 1991
Hospital Wing
Hogwarts
The heated argunt echoing around the room pulled Darcie out of her slumber.
"I told you both not to discuss anything here!" Madam Pomfrey's voice cut through the whispers. "Look, you've woken her up!"
Through her blurry vision, Darcie looked to her right.
On the bed next to her was Madam Villanelle, resting with her back against the headboard.
Her dark skin was unnaturally pale, as though she had lost a lot of blood. She seed too weak to speak properly, but her eyes still burned with fierce anger.
Whatever she had been discussing must have maddened her beyond her bearings.
And, standing on the right of Madam Villanelle's bed, was the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Professor Albus Dumbledore.
He was dressed in deep purple robes that seed to sparkle with tiny silver stars and moons, making him look almost like a figure from a dream. His long silver beard and hair flowed smoothly, and his half-moon glasses perched delicately on his nose.
As Darcie's gaze focused on him, she saw his blue eyes fixed on her with a steady, aningful look.
His deanor was kind but serious and his attention was completely on her, making her feel both vulnerable and protected.
A sudden, sharp headache pounded her skull.
"Ugh!" Darcie moaned, grabbing her head and suddenly pulling herself up.
"Darcie!" Madam Villanelle shouted, trying to get up. But before she could do so, Madam Pomfrey pushed her back into the bed and rushed to the little girl.
"Drink this, child," the nurse said.
A glass pressed itself on her lips and Darcie tasted sothing bitter as it ran down her throat.
In the very next mont, the blinding headache's intensity reduced, letting her open her eyes again. This ti, though, with her vision, her mories returned as well.
She had regained consciousness last night, Darcie rembered.
Then, only Madam Villanelle had been next to her.
After checking up on her, and finding her with a stable mind, Darcie's ntor had told her everything, hiding nothing.
From Ekrizdis' existence to her and Dumbledore's trap, from her failure with the Book to the mass Apparation over the Hogwarts Express, from her injury to Darcie's becoming an Obscurus, from Darcie saving the students to inadvertently mortally injuring Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
Despite the harsh reality, Madam Villanelle hadn't adulterated the consequences of it all.
Darcie was the Candidate of Indigo Seat. If she didn't even know what she was capable of, then how would she ever take another step forward towards the things expected of her?
As Darcie rembered her conversation with Madam Villanelle, tears ran down her cheeks.
Her head snapped toward Professor Dumbledore's left arm.
From outside, none could tell that he was missing his left arm below the elbow and his left leg below the knee.
Yet, his left hand was gloved and his gait carried a limp as he walked around Madam Villanelle's bed, approaching Darcie.
Darcie knew magic when she saw it.
"I..." she choked, taking sobbing breaths. "I... am sorry..."
"Oh..." Madam Pomfrey tried to console, but Dumbledore put up a hand.
"Please leave us..."
"Bliy! Have you gone mad..."
"Please..." the Headmaster insisted, still looking at Darcie, clenching-flexing the fingers of his left, magical hand. "Let talk to her privately."
Madam Pomfrey was about to burst out with a furious argunt.
But she took another asure to look at Dumbledore, Madam Villanelle, and Darcie, sighed, and walked away, mumbling to herself.
Dumbledore looked at the girl, her chin pressed deep into her chest as she sobbed.
He sat down next to her and smiled. "Well, this is quite the introduction, Darcie," he said gently. "I'd imagined us eting under different circumstances—maybe chatting about Dragon Blood over a glass of sharbat. But here we are."
The casual, easy-going tone made Darcie tear up even harder.
Dumbledore sighed. He took off the glove on his left hand and put both his hands down on the bed.
Darcie couldn't help but look at them.
His right hand was thin and wrinkled, showing signs of age.
The rings on his fingers couldn't disguise the frailty of his bones beneath the delicate skin.
The left hand, though, shone silver.
It was as if rcury had decided to actively take the shape of a hand.
You could see the ripples as if blood of the sa material was flowing underneath the outermost layer.
Compared to the right hand, the left hand not only looked physically strong but also felt magically powerful.
"Quite an upgrade, don't you think?" Dumbledore quipped.
Darcie's tears ran dry as she gaped at the humor.
Professor Dumbledore looked deep into those green eyes. "It's not your fault," he said, smiling. "It's not your fault."
"But..."
"What you did took real courage," Dumbledore said, gently interrupting her. "I've seen many adults falter in similar situations. You might not have been fully in control, but your bravery spoke volus. You achieved what I couldn't that day."
"But your arm..."
"... is nothing compared to the lives of students," Dumbledore completed Darcie's words, his smile widening. "I must thank you for the exemplary decisiveness you showed, taking the matter into your hands.
"You didn't wait for help. You didn't wait for soone to co, knowing that it would be too late. You didn't hold yourself back when your friends needed you the most.
"For this... you have my utmost respect."
Darcie didn't know what to say.
She saw the shimr in Dumbledore's blue eyes. He wasn't making it up. These were his true feelings, coming out from the bottom of his heart.
She hadn't thought she would be praised and thanked after the things she had done that day.
That day...
A final drop of tear ran down her cheek. "But..." Darcie rembered a forgotten, unknown face. "... Mr. Grindelwald."
A silence fell upon the three of them, then.
Gellert Grindelwald was dead.
The magic he had stored in himself, bringing him back to life as an Inferi shortly, had also run out.
Moreover, the Ministry had refused to acknowledge his involvent in the Battle of Legends... on their side.
Instead, unanimously, the Ministry of Magic had put Grindelwald in cahoots with Ekrizdis and the cause behind the Dark Lord's return.
Nobody wanted to make a hero out of the heinous existence behind the Global Wizarding War years ago.
Dumbledore closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, his blue pupils were shining brilliantly, surprising Darcie.
"I spoke with him... before everything happened," Dumbledore said, his voice steady. "We understood the risks. His death wasn't your fault, Darcie. What matters now is rembering his sacrifice and moving forward. Can you do that for ?"
Darcie felt horrible.
Still, she rubbed her eyes and nodded at the Headmaster.
Dumbledore let out a thin smile and stood up. He went to stand between the two beds and looked at the two girls.
"The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin in a few hours," he told them, putting his hands on his waist. "I expect the two ladies to be there. On ti. You two do need so special introduction. If Madam Pomfrey doesn't let you go, I am sure Madam Villanelle knows a secret corridor or two..."
Dumbledore winked at them and then walked away, humming to himself.
On her right, Madam Villanelle sighed, frowning. She looked at Darcie, then. "Rest for one more hour," she told her. "I will wake you up in ti. Don't worry."
Darcie nodded and lay down on the bed on her side, facing left.
Suddenly, all her apologetic, regretful, and concerned expressions vanished as if they were nothing but a facade.
Those expressions were replaced by a shock, making her poisonous green eyes widen beyond possibility.
And in her mind, there danced a thought, causing upheaval in her emotions.
That thought was...
Sothing's truly wrong with Albus Dumbledore!
**************
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