The kindly old grandfather of the wizarding world wound his way down the quaint village street in the afternoon's failing light towards the warm glow and lively sounds of the village's most comforting inn. It had become a kind of tradition for him, these quiet little jaunts down from his proverbial ivory tower at Hogwarts, and Albus found he quite enjoyed his monthly visits. They reminded him of what it was all for.
He crossed the threshold of the Three Broomsticks, quickly making way for some of the more spritely village youngsters dashing about on their way home before sunset after one last butterbeer. Albus chuckled to himself as he made his way to his usual booth. He did so love youths; all of the unrestrained energy and promise of life's great adventures laying ahead for them filled him with hope. The rosy tavern keeper, Madam Rosmerta, made her way over just as he was settling into his seat.
"As regular as clockwork. How are you, Albus?" Rosmerta asked warmly as she hugged him to her overly large breasts.
"I'm fine, just fine," he said jovially, straightening his half-moon spectacles on his twice-broken nose and set his hat back in its proper place. Oh, how he loved these genuine displays of affection he got from his few regular acquaintances; they made him feel young.
"-Ready to begin a new year," he smiled as he continued. "Now all we need are students. I believe you have something for me?" Albus prompted. He always had his monthly statements mailed here for him to review surrounded by the bustle and life of the tavern. These people were the lifeblood of the wizarding world, and Hogwarts its heart, so it only made sense to do what he did here in the warm glow of all that life while its heart had grown temporarily cold.
"Oh, not today, I don't," Rosmerta said, wiping an imaginary spot on the table. "I'm sorry," she said sympathetically. "It looks like your lady friend's forgotten you this time," she said with a twinkle in her eye. She had tried setting him up with some of the older witches and wizards of the village a number of times before in the last decade, but he had always been more inclined towards his work than in meeting any new friends, let alone anyone special.
"Alas," Albus said. "The closest thing I've had to a lady friend in that regard has been you, since you always leave me wanting more. Perhaps you'd be so kind as to find me something to nibble on while I'm here?
Rosmerta laughed and flicked her rag at him.
"Oh, you old flirt," she smiled. "It's a pity you've never found yourself someone special to settle down with," she said sadly.
"Ah," Albus said. "Finding one and doing so are two very different things."
"I'll go see what I can come up with," she said as she patted his hand comfortingly before walking away.
Albus did hope it was food that she brought and not another older gentleman.
It was quite some time later that the lonely old man made his way back up the hard-packed dirt lane towards the grounds of Hogwarts. No mail had come for poor Albus, nobody wanted him, and nobody thought him important; it made him feel sad. Even the patrons in the bar, long accustomed to his monthly working visits, had paid him no mind and didn't even notice as he gazed longingly at them as if looking for some way to join their conversation.
He sighed despondently as he looked up at the castle through the wrought iron gates, only a tiny few pin-pricks of light in a multitude of windows. Albus wondered what would happen to it once he was gone.
'There is still time,' he thought to himself. 'There's still time .'
A cold and mournful wind blew across the grounds as Albus walked to the castle. In other times, on other nights, the breeze might've seemed brisk and cool, but not tonight, not for Albus.
He looked over to the great misshapen lump of Hagrid's hut and a small smile crept onto his face as he thought it looked very much like a slumbering giant, so much like the gentle giant tottering about within. Albus reminded himself to try to be more like the kindly gamekeeper. A pure and simple soul was so much more in tune with the Greater Good than one whose mind and heart was fixed on the mournfully mundane.
The entryway was dark when he arrived at the school, only one door unlocked and none open. The Great Hall stood empty, silent, its tables devoid of golden plates and shining silverware, its enchanted ceiling showing only darkness. Only one torch in three was lit as Albus made his way to his office and he wondered how long they would last.
It was on this somber scene that he saw one of his few moderately good work friends appear.
"Ah, Professor McGonagall," Albus said with a smile he didn't feel. "I see you have returned, and a few days early. Just as eager as I to get another year underway?"
"Sadly, no," the Scottish woman rained on Albus's parade. "I just got the statements for the Operational Fund and they're far less than the projections you gave me last year. I came in to see what could have caused it."
"Nothing amiss, I trust?" the kindly old man asked.
"Something's definitely amiss, alright," Minerva said tersely. "Hogwarts is in dire straits. The Fund is lower than it's been in over a decade and I'm at a loss as to how to explain it. Did the Governors say anything about cutting our budget?"
"Not any more than they've said in previous years," Albus said. "I wouldn't worry, things will work themselves out."
"Things had better 'work themselves out' soon," she said, tugging fitfully at her tartan robes. "-Or we may have to end the Hopefuls program entirely and you'll have to hit the Beggar's Circuit again."
"I do so dislike that phrase," Albus tutted. "They are valued alumni, generously donating to their old school."
"Whatever they are, you'll need to see them with your hat in your hand asking for money if you want to keep the doors open for long."
"Oh," Albus said, once more regaining his jovial mood now that someone needed his reassurance. "I don't think things are quite as dark as all that. I didn't get my statements at all today. This may well be some sort of mistake or delay in processing. I wouldn't worry about it. There's still a week before the Mailings go out, by then we may look back and think how alarmist we're being now. There's still plenty of time."
"I hope so, Albus," the Scottish woman said. "I really do. I'd so hate to have to go back on our word. Those would be three very dispirited children to have to hear they'll never be going to Hogwarts."
"Rest assured, Minerva," Albus said knowingly. "By the time I return from this month's I.C.W. meeting, I'm certain the problem will be solved. I wish I could stay to make sure things were fine here but-"
"-There are too many opportunities to do good there," she finished for him. "You're a saint, Albus."
"Oh, no," he smiled. "But I do try."
.....
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