Fic: Dumbledore's Dream (hp/rw, PG)
Title: Dumbledore's Dream
Pen Name:
bramblerose4
Genre: Romance,Angst
Pairings (if there are any): slight Harry/Ron slash, but could be seen as firece friendship
Rating: PG
Words:439
Complete or Work-In-Progess(WIP):
Chaptered or One-Shot: One-shot
Summary:What happens to Dumbledore's dream after his death?
Any warnings?: None
Albus Percival Wulfric Brain Dumbledore had a dream for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, for the whole wizarding world really. He had this dream long before he became Headmaster, before Tom Riddle became the Dark Lord Voldemort, and certainly before Harry Potter became the Boy-Who-Lived. It was a dream where wizards, witches and magical beings of all kinds, could live together in understanding and tolerance; where commonalities outweighed differences; where fairness and love prevailed over corruption and hatred. Several wizards had similar dreams, but most believed if anyone could accomplish that dream, it was Dumbledore.
Now that he was gone, what would happen to Dumbledore’s dream?
The following months were hard on the wizarding community. As word spread about Dumbledore’s unnatural death, the Daily Prophet had been filled with reports of flowery speeches from Ministry officials about his dream, how noble and dedicated he was, and how his many accomplishments would be remembered in generations to come. They were only pathetic attempts to assuage the public cries of anger and disbelief and to restore the civic order of denial, as the growing fear confirmed the end of a glorious dream, and the beginning of a ceaseless nightmare.
I was distracted from my dark thoughts as the sound of cloth moving over cloth broke the heavy silence of my orange room. My head instinctively turned to Harry’s bed as he mumbled incoherently for a moment, before turning from his side onto his back. A random stream of moonlight clearly illuminated his features, his eyes slightly open, lashes fluttering in sleep, his mouth set in a thin grimace. A corner twitched upwards, his mouth parted a little.
“Ron.”
My name was more mouthed than spoken, though I dared not move from my bed. It was a private utterance, one that I wouldn’t have heard if I hadn’t been looking at him at that moment. A quick kick of a leg caught my attention, as Harry’s faced contorted into a grimace and a low, throaty grunt passed through his dry, cracked lips. Suddenly he sat up and gasped.
“RON!”
I was at his bedside and had him in my arms before he even finished shouting my name.
“I’ll get him! I’ll get him and I’ll make him pay!” He cried in a desperate, frightened voice.
I was not sure if he meant Voldemort or Snape. As I gently rocked him and whispered words of comfort into his hair, I realized there was one person who hadn’t lost faith in Dumbledore’s dream, and as long as he lived, fought and loved, I would believe in the dream too.
Pen Name:
bramblerose4
Genre: Romance,Angst
Pairings (if there are any): slight Harry/Ron slash, but could be seen as firece friendship
Rating: PG
Words:439
Complete or Work-In-Progess(WIP):
Chaptered or One-Shot: One-shot
Summary:What happens to Dumbledore's dream after his death?
Any warnings?: None
Albus Percival Wulfric Brain Dumbledore had a dream for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, for the whole wizarding world really. He had this dream long before he became Headmaster, before Tom Riddle became the Dark Lord Voldemort, and certainly before Harry Potter became the Boy-Who-Lived. It was a dream where wizards, witches and magical beings of all kinds, could live together in understanding and tolerance; where commonalities outweighed differences; where fairness and love prevailed over corruption and hatred. Several wizards had similar dreams, but most believed if anyone could accomplish that dream, it was Dumbledore.
Now that he was gone, what would happen to Dumbledore’s dream?
The following months were hard on the wizarding community. As word spread about Dumbledore’s unnatural death, the Daily Prophet had been filled with reports of flowery speeches from Ministry officials about his dream, how noble and dedicated he was, and how his many accomplishments would be remembered in generations to come. They were only pathetic attempts to assuage the public cries of anger and disbelief and to restore the civic order of denial, as the growing fear confirmed the end of a glorious dream, and the beginning of a ceaseless nightmare.
I was distracted from my dark thoughts as the sound of cloth moving over cloth broke the heavy silence of my orange room. My head instinctively turned to Harry’s bed as he mumbled incoherently for a moment, before turning from his side onto his back. A random stream of moonlight clearly illuminated his features, his eyes slightly open, lashes fluttering in sleep, his mouth set in a thin grimace. A corner twitched upwards, his mouth parted a little.
“Ron.”
My name was more mouthed than spoken, though I dared not move from my bed. It was a private utterance, one that I wouldn’t have heard if I hadn’t been looking at him at that moment. A quick kick of a leg caught my attention, as Harry’s faced contorted into a grimace and a low, throaty grunt passed through his dry, cracked lips. Suddenly he sat up and gasped.
“RON!”
I was at his bedside and had him in my arms before he even finished shouting my name.
“I’ll get him! I’ll get him and I’ll make him pay!” He cried in a desperate, frightened voice.
I was not sure if he meant Voldemort or Snape. As I gently rocked him and whispered words of comfort into his hair, I realized there was one person who hadn’t lost faith in Dumbledore’s dream, and as long as he lived, fought and loved, I would believe in the dream too.