A/N: I own nothing.

Chapter Three

"We didn't think we were superior to everything else. We only assumed that nothing else mattered. Blood purity was not about racism. It was about population control. If the wizarding world stayed small, then it was not a threat. Harry Potter practically eliminated blood purism in a single night. Those that survived the destruction of Little Hangleton were not enough to continue the blood purity crusade. The Others saw this. More importantly, they saw the threat that would follow should the wizarding population multiply. The Veil fell."

-Bathsheda Babbling, The Epic of a Dying Race

A chilly night wind blew through the Scottish Highlands. Moonlight reflected off a rolling fog that wrapped around trees, hills, and the buildings of a small, isolated village. Hogsmeade, a solitary settlement with almost no means of contacting the world outside their restricted existence, sat at the base of a hill. An large, old castle overlooked the village.

In the past, the castle had been the fortress of great kings and queens. The old clans waged war from within its walls and drew blood upon its ramparts. Death sunk deep into the soil, soaking the land around the castle in permanent darkness. Trees, dark and twisted like the soil from which they grew, formed a forest around the castle that was broken only by a large lake that spread into the tall hills of the Scottish Highlands. Overtime, the warriors left, and the kings and queens died. It became a school. A place of learning where children experienced their first steps into a larger world.

Within the old stone walls, Albus Dumbledore took a long drink from an amber bottle on his desk, trying to slow his racing mind. His office's ancient walls had witnessed both tragedy and joy. He was but another benchmark in the long history of Hogwarts. In a century or so, time would forget the reign of Albus Dumbledore. He would be little more than a footnote in the castle's long history, just another portrait on the wall, overshadowed by the terrors and graces of the future.

But for now, he took solace in the quiet of the room. He sighed in relief as the alcohol slid down his throat. A warm shiver spread through his arm and legs, reaching the tips of his fingers and toes, making them curl in brief ecstasy. He smiled – if one could call the slight upturn of his lips a smile. Nothing else about him hinted at happiness. His cheeks sagged. His well-known twinkle no longer gave his eyes a look of humor and mischief. Matted and oily hair clung together in strands, making his beard and normally full locks of white look stringy and grey. In places, old sweat and grime clung to his wrinkled skin. Stains spotted his periwinkle robes.

He knew how he looked. He just didn't care. In his many years of life, he had lost so much. More than most people would even fear. On more occasions than one, tragedy had shattered his world. In the past, the adversity made him stronger. He grew in power and wisdom. He accumulated more knowledge than a room full of the brightest scholars. He knew both lost magical lore and modern astrophysics. He understood the role cellular reproduction played in magic and how dragon's blood could extend life.

But all the knowledge and wisdom, all the years and power, could not have prepared him to lose two students. Two of the children entrusted to him had been torn from his grasp. Yes, accidents had happened before. In the many centuries since the Founders began their school of magic, students had died. A basic understanding of statistics equipped a person with the knowledge to conclude that a student would occasionally die by accident or natural causes.

Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory did not die by accident or natural causes. They were taken from him. They had trusted him to take care of them, to protect them. Undoubtedly, when the Triwizard Cup swept them away, they thought they were being taken to a celebration of their victory. Instead, they met their deaths hundreds of miles from their friends and family, alone and scared.

Only hours after the last task ended, the Ministry managed to track their location. A portkey left behind afterimages, remnants of the energy needed to tear through space and time. A skilled witch or wizard could follow the afterimages. Most were not skilled enough to do so, but despite the Ministry's relative incompetence, it did employ very skilled individuals. Dumbledore, himself, accompanied the team that went after them. By they time they arrived at the Little Hangleton graveyard, some eight hours after Harry and Cedric disappearance, only a crater in the ground marked the boys' deaths.

Of course, Dumbledore knew the graveyard. He had visited it years before to confirm his suspicions about Tom Riddle's parentage. Undoubtedly, Voldemort had intended to use the bones of his father to resurrect himself. Only a handful of dark rituals required the blood of an enemy and bones of a father.

After Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts, he rapidly spiraled into a deep depression. Several days passed before Dumbledore even noticed that others were missing. Most were once suspected deatheaters, but a few others were gone as well. Desperately clinging to a hope that Harry and Cedric might be alive and with the missing people, Dumbledore went to great lengths to discover their location. It wasn't until he caught Barty Crouch, Jr. that he began to put the story together. He had noticed over the past several days that Alastor 'Mad-Eye" Moody had been grumpier and more reclusive than normal. Suspicious of almost everyone, Dumbledore investigated. He caught Crouch climbing from the trunk that imprisoned the old auror. Moody had been dead for at least two days, making Crouch's Polyjuice potion less effective. Dumbledore only barely restrained himself from killing the dark wizard. Had it not been for his desire to see the dementors suck the soul from Crouch's body, he would have torn the flesh from the deatheater's corpse.

Crouch revealed what he had managed to gather about Voldemort's resurrection attempt. Something had gone wrong. Something that no one anticipated. In the hours after Harry and Cedric disappeared, Crouch's Dark Mark had faded to little more than a pale outline on his forearm. Severus confirmed the story and reported that the Mafloys – some of the only former deatheaters that did not go missing – refused to say anything regarding Voldemort's resurrection. Dumbledore could only conclude that Voldemort somehow botched the ritual. Undoubtedly, the magical backlash generated from botching the ritual killed Harry, Cedric, Voldemort, and several deatheaters.

Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter did not die as heroes sacrificing their lives so that others may live. They died as victims of a mass murderer while under Dumbledore's protection. The guilt from that alone would send a man in search of relief. However, Dumbledore could not bring himself to regret their deaths. Yes, he felt guilty. He felt guilty because he would trade Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory time and time again if it meant defeating Voldemort and saving Britain, and that terrible truth lit a fire of self-loathing within him that only made his depression worse. He did not deserve his titles or positions. He did not deserve to watch over Hogwarts. Anyone who would trade a child's life had no place running a school.

Dumbledore took another long sip from the whiskey bottle. The amber liquid made him shiver. A few more sips and he just might forget. He stared at the walls. Books and portraits filled every empty space. The portraits looked back at him, not daring to speak. Most looked disappointed, but some looked understanding. A Hogwarts headmaster always wrestled with some sort of tragedy.

Slowly, Dumbledore rose from behind his desk. The alcohol made him wobble just a bit. He stumbled but managed to catch himself before he fell. He straightened his robes and muttered a curse under his breath. Both annoyed and relieved by the alcohol, he grumbled as he shambled around the desk to a large, oak bookcase. The wood was likely as old as the castle. The house elves kept it polished and looking new.

Dumbledore scanned the shelves, jumping quickly from one title to the next until his eyes landed on the book for which he searched. He held out his hand towards the shelf. A thin, leather-bound book slid from its place and floated towards his outstretched hand. Dumbledore wrapped long fingers around it and opened it. He silently read for several long minutes, occasionally flipping a page.

"Here it is," he said aloud. He turned back towards his desk and placed the book on it. He smoothed it open so that it lay flat. He reached into the sleeve of the robe on his left arm and pulled his wand from it. The Elder Wand thrummed in anticipation as it connected to the magic of its master.

Dumbledore took another look at the book, nodded, and walked in front of his desk. He banished the two chairs he kept for guests. He pointed his wand at a small brown sack on his desk. A line of salt shot out of the bag. It zoomed through the air in a long line, leaving a trail behind it. Dumbledore directed it to the space on the floor where the chairs had been. He twisted his wand and drew a circle in the air. The salt mimicked his actions and formed a large circle on the stone floor. When the last piece of salt touched the ground, it sealed a complete circle, free of gaps and flaws. Dumbledore pushed a bit of magic into the salt circle. The salt glowed red, pulsed once, and faded back to salt. The summoning circle was complete. Nothing he summoned would be able to escape.

Dumbledore relaxed his wand arm at his side, but still held tightly to the Elder Wand, ready to use it if necessary. What he was about to do was dangerous. Dangerous and extremely stupid. Yet, he had no choice. He could not go on like this. He had traded and won before. He would have to trade once more. He pushed the hesitancy from his mind and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, preparing himself. Quietly, he spoke:

"Lady of Air and Darkness,

Mistress of the Blackened Night,

Queen of the Sidhe.

Mab, I call thy name.

Mab, I summon thee.

Mab, appear to me.

I invoke thee!

I invoke thee!

I invoke thee!"

The air in the office sizzled. Lightning flashed within the summoning circle. A powerful wind stirred within the salt and buffeted the edges of the circle, struggling to be free of the circle's binding. When it could not break free, the wind twisted into a cyclone, taking form as swirling, enraged black clouds. The fury of the magic within the circle raged and struck out, clashing against the circle with enough ferocity to make Dumbledore take a worried step back.

The circle did not break. It glowed an angry red. The cyclone calmed and collapsed, fading into nothingness. As it disappeared, a bright light flashed within the circle, forcing Dumbledore to shield his eyes and look away. When the light faded and Dumbledore dared to look back at the circle, he saw standing at the center of the circle a tall, inhumanely elegant woman. She had pale skin and long black hair tinged with a dark purple one could only see if they looked carefully and quickly. She had blue eyes so deep that Dumbledore could barely look away from them. She wore a dark blue evening gown that could have been made from the water of the deepest ocean. It fit snugly against her curvy, muscular frame. The neckline dipped low between her breasts, revealing the edges of creamy, tantalizing flesh. A slit ran up the side of the dress, showcasing her toned legs from foot to upper thigh. Dumbledore tried to not admire the physical display, but even he could not resist admiring such a vision of flawless beauty. Everything about her, from the way she stood to the way she looked expectantly at Dumbledore oozed lust, promising both pleasure and pain. As he had every time before, Dumbledore could not stop himself from gasping.

"You dare call me again, mortal?" the beauty said, her tone flat. Her voice echoed in the office, bouncing off stone walls and reverberating, carry with it a threat.

"Your Majesty," Dumbledore replied quickly, breaking out of his stupor. He kneeled and lowered his head. "I beg your pardon, great queen, but I wish to bargain with Winter."

The sidhe, be they high or low, loved to bargain, and Mab was no different. Of the four faerie courts, Summer bargained with humans more than any other, but the fae all caved to the possibility of gaining power over another, especially mortals. For millennia, since the first wizard learned to conjure fire, the fae had considered wizards and witches particularly entertaining playthings. They could not directly harm humans, but the fae could tempt them. Many mortals had fallen prey to faeries offering power and riches. To prevent it, the magical people of the world had done everything they could to extinguish the wizarding world's knowledge of the fae. Only tidbits of Summer, like leprechauns, managed to slip through. Dumbledore, like many powerful wizards and witches, knew that something more existed, but few people in the wizarding world knew the full extent of the power wielded by the high fae. Mab, Queen of the Unseelie Sidhe, was a faerie of immense power. Within the faerie realm, only her sister, Titania, Queen of the Seelie, and their shared husband, Oberon, matched her power. Outside of the faerie realm, few could hope to defend themselves against her, much less prevail. Only the circle kept her from destroying Dumbledore where he stood. It had been incredibly stupid to summon her, but he needed her.

And he had her. He looked up from the ground.

Mab stared at him, her face completely devoid of emotion, so empty that it could never be human. Yet, Dumbledore still found her beautiful. Intoxicatingly so. His magic hummed within him, calling to the powerful creature that could nurture it, make it stronger. His very body threatened to betray him. For a moment, he felt the urge to trade with her for just a few brief moments of physical intimacy. No! he screamed to himself. He pushed the thought aside as quickly as it had come. Even behind the safety of the circle, Mab still threatened to bewitch him. He hardened his resolve, relying on the whiskey to dull his senses long enough to avoid Mab's seductive power. Without the whiskey, he would have likely caved already.

The sidhe queen smiled, showing her teeth. Dumbledore shuddered and looked away again, unwilling to meet the predator's eyes. Mab's smile deepened as he did so. "What is it that you wish, wizard?" she asked, her voice once again echoing through the room.

Dumbledore steeled himself. He had to pull himself together. He could do this. Mab was powerful, but so was he. He wielded the Elder Wand, a tool created by Death itself. The circle still protected him. He cleared his throat and looked back at her. "I need you to take away my pain and regret over the deaths of two students."

"Ah," Mab said, practically purring with pleasure. "Human emotions are so fragile, so fleeting. Yet, you feel them deeply. They affect your very core. To take something like that from you would not be easy. It could have terrible effects. What could you possibly offer me that would be worth that?"

"My third name," Dumbledore answered quickly.

Mab's eyes flickered. She grinned. "I have three already, wizard. You would risk giving me a fourth?"

A name carried power. Even muggles knew that a name meant something. If a magical being possessed a person's name, their true name, the magical being could almost control that person. At the very least, they could do a lot of damage to the person. Few, however, learned the name of another. A true name meant something to a person. If the magical being could not mimic that feeling, that precise, nuanced emotion that a person put into pronouncing their name, then they could not use the name as a tool. They had to learn the name, and only the bearer of the name could teach them to use it.

Dumbledore took a risk by giving Mab his fourth name. There was one other way in which the dark queen could have gained his fifth name, but Dumbledore was willing to take the chance. The other way was all but impossible. Mab had not been watching him long enough to perform such a feat. "I would give it to you in return for you taking away the pain and regret of my students dying."

Mab tilted her head to once side and looked at him quizzically. "Why?" she asked.

For all of her power, Mab would never understand mortals. The fae tried; yet, they simply did not possess the same motivations or emotions. They sought the knowledge out. They wanted to know how mortals could do what they could do, how they could exist outside the bindings that constricted all but humans. But they never would. Humans were not meant to mix with the sidhe or any of the Others. Their realms did not coincide. Though the fae could look and speak like humans, they were not. They born of a different realm, a different existence. As such, they were bound by different rules. In a very singular way, humans possessed more power than any immortal or godling that wielded Creation.

Freewill. Humans could act as they chose. The ancient rules did not restrict them. They had power in all the realms. Unlike the fae, who would lose some of their power when not in their realm, humans could hop from realm to realm without weakening. They could cause harm without cosmic penalty. They could love without painful restrictions. They could think of others without being tempted to use them. The fae could do none of that. To the fae, freedom was an illusion.

Dumbledore knew, then, that she would grant him his request. "I cannot perform as I need to perform. Soon, the summer months will be over. My students will return. I need to be ready for them. They need a headmaster, not a drunken fool who spends his days sulking in self-loathing. I need to move on."

Mab's smile faded. Once again, she stared at him without emotion, her eyes eerily blank but still intoxicatingly beautiful. After a moment, she spoke. "I agree to your terms, wizard." Light flashed between them. Dumbledore reflexively blinked and turned his head. A weight settled upon him, wrapping around his heart with a very slight pressure. A compact had been formed. If he broke the bargain, he would die.

"Brian," he said, slowly pronouncing the word. He said each syllable with conviction. Each letter carried part of him. Together, they made something of him that was fundamental to his very being. As he said it, he opened his magic and let it flow. It danced through the room, weaving in patterns that went between him and Mab. As it reached the circle, an opening formed, allowing for the compact to be fulfilled.

Mab arched an elegant eyebrow. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian," she said, each word formed with the precision she could have only learned from him.

The air in the room dropped twenty degrees. Dumbledore couldn't stop himself from shivering. A queen of the sidhe, the Lady of Air and Darkness, had his name. Only ten letters kept her from having complete control over him. He knew without a doubt that if Mab gained his final name, she would use it.

"Now, I will perform my part. Release me, wizard," Mab ordered.

This was the most dangerous part. The circle was the only thing that truly kept him safe from Mab. Yes, he was powerful, but Mab was practically a goddess in her own right. For all he knew, she might be beyond simple divinity. He honestly didn't know. Still, he needed this. He had to release her or else the circle would keep her from doing anything to help him.

"Do you swear to do no harm to me, this school, or any within it?" he asked.

Mab sneered and flashed her teeth. "I swear it," she said. Again, the magic in the room stirred, binding her to her promise.

Dumbledore flicked his wand. He had not put it down throughout their interaction. A single grain of salt rolled from the circle.

All at once, the magic keeping Mab bound extinguished. She smiled deeply and stretched her arms out to either side. "Ah," she said. "Now, that is better." She stepped gracefully over the line of salt.

Dumbledore remained kneeling at her feet. He bowed his head again. If she attacked, he had no hope of killing her. He could probably escape if she tried something, but he would be leaving the school defenseless. No one else in the school had the power to take on Mab. No, fighting or showing any sort of defiance would not lead to his goals being accomplished. He had to play nice. Proper respect meant a lot to the fae. He left his head bowed.

"At least you know your place," Mab said, her voice echoing with the same power it had when the circle had bound her. "Stand up," she ordered.

Dumbledore stood. He was a tall man. Most people had to look up to him. Mab did not. When he looked at her, he noticed that she was eyelevel with him. Before he could look away, she had caught him with the gaze of her green, endless eyes. Her hand shot out and grabbed him by the beard before he could look away. Magic brewed in the air, flowing between the two of them, but he could feel neither the brewing magic nor the pain from her pulling his beard. He could only stare in the endless void of her eyes. He saw lives flash by, many upon many mortals all falling in terror in the face of Winter's wrath. He saw darkness. Endless darkness that went on for an unfathomable time. He saw fear. His own fear. He saw the face of Cedric Diggory. He saw the lifeless eyes and look of horror that marred all victims of the killing curse. He saw Harry Potter surrounded by lightning and flame. He saw a white staff made of gnarled wood that was adorned with a glowing green gem. The green of Mab's eyes.

A terrible, blood-curdling scream broke through his link with Mab. One moment, he was staring into her eyes. The next, he was soaring across his office and colliding with one of the many bookcases. Pain shot through his back and head as they struck the hard oak. Wood snapped and several books tumbled to the ground. Dumbledore landed hard on the stone floor, books and knick-knacks raining down upon him. He tried to push himself up, but a sharp pain shot down his neck and into left arm. The arm gave out under his weight. He had injured his neck, maybe even fractured a vertebra. He needed to get help immediately.

Dumbledore did his best to role onto his right side without putting much strain on his neck. Pain lashed through his body, but he pushed it aside, using his occlumency to convince his mind that the pain did not exist. It helped, but it could not make up for the lack of function his injuries may have caused. When he made it onto his right side, he stretched out his right hand, summoning his wand. Nothing happened. He looked up.

Mab, the Lady of Air and Darkness, ruler of the Winter fae, Queen of the Sidhe stalked towards him, her power on full display, the Elder Wand in one hand. The light in the room dimmed. Though the candlelight still burned, no light went further than a few centimeters from the flame. Wherever Mab stepped, ice formed on the floor, ceiling, and walls. When she came near Dumbledore, the ice creeped up his back and chest, covering him in frosty, hard layers. He tried to move, but he was too hurt to resist, especially without a wand. He could use magic without a wand, but it lacked much precision. He might be able to knock Mab down a bit, but he could not heal himself.

Mab stepped up to him. She used the toe of her heeled foot to turn his chin towards her. He ignored the pain, but he couldn't ignore the fear he felt when he looked into the deep, endless eyes of the Winter Lady. "Do you think me a fool?" she asked, her voice just as icy as the rest of her.

Dumbledore tensed and shut his eyes. His head felt like it would split open. The sound of her voice hurt him. The fae infused her words with so much power that her voice cracked through his occlumency barriers. He felt blood trickle from his ears.

"My lady, your oath," Dumbledore croaked through the pain.

Mab flinched as if hit. Dumbledore opened his eyes. Her face was contorted in a mixture of rage and pain. The magic of the oath was already hurting her. She was fighting it in order to hurt him. Dumbledore could not fathom the power that took.

"You tricked me, wizard," she hissed. "You played me like a fool, and that will not be forgotten." The ice tightened around him. Mab flinched against another wave of pain. "I am Mab the Unblessed, the Queen of Air and Darkness. Do you really think you will survive threatening me?" A wave of pain struck her. She doubled over at the waist. She screamed in frustration, causing Dumbledore's ears and head to protest. An intense pain shot through his ears. He cried out, but he did not hear the cry. He couldn't hear anything.

Mab huffed and waved a hand. The ice melted away from Dumbledore, leaving him a shivering, wet mess. She lifted a finger and a warmth spread over him, a power quite unlike Winter. Bones and vertebrae popped back into place. The pain faded. His hearing returned. The spots on his robes disappeared. His hair and beard cleaned itself and looked freshly washed. The odor that even he tried to ignore was replaced by the scent of freshly showered skin and laundered clothes.

Mab sighed in relief. She had healed him and even made him better than before. Apparently, that was enough for the magic to stop attacking her for trying to void the compact. Still, though, the stare she fixed him with was more than adequate enough to scare him. "The Blood has risen. A True Wizard has been born. And you, the mighty Albus Dumbledore, thought you could hide it from me." Her face darkened. "Should the Staff Eternal return to the wizarding world, I will wipe you pathetic creatures from the face of existence."

With that, she threw the Elder Wand at Dumbledore and spun on a heel. She blinked away, leaving behind only a few snowflakes that slowly fell to the stone floor. Dumbledore simply stared at where she had been, terrified, confused, and completely without guilt. What had he wanted to forget? For that matter, who had he wanted to forget?

A/N: Please review. Even if it is a simple yes or no. I respond to every review (eventually), and I answer every question.