The Gloaming of the Gods

India, 1885


 
 
India, 1885

 
 
God is everywhere in India.
The bank framing the murky stream was emerald with some creeping jungle plant. Evening had darkened the vast sky overhead into a startling shade of amethyst, burning off some of the heavy heat. Passing through the little village on his way to the Big House, as the natives called it, the stares of the ragged, half-clothed children were weights like many small pebbles stacked on his shoulders. Even the silence was hungry.
Everywhere, and yet so hard to find. Or to like Him here.
He never took his gaze from the dirt path stretching before him as he dropped the bundle of sweets from his bag. Out of one of the lengthening shadows in the ditch a small boy reached a hand out to take it, and slipped away again.
He sighed as he entered the quiet courtyard of the Flamel house and placed his satchel filled with the d stu study carefully on a long stone bench. He dipped his dusty fingers into the well, then drank from his cupped hands. Washing off as best he could, he pulled off the long, soiled tunic and reached for a clean one hanging from a peg on the wall.
He hoped he could beg off early after dinner this evening, but remembered that the Flamels' niece had been expected this day for a fortnight's visit. Niece being a ponderous connection, since the couple were over five hundred yearsage.age. A descendant of Perenelle's family would perhaps be a more suitable phrase. He stretched weary muscles and headed slowly for the house.
The little hallway at the entrance was still stifling, the candles placed along the wall fighting to push back the damp heaviness. Scents of the waiting meal sped his feet toward the dining room where soft voices could be heard.
The first thing he noticed when he passed through the archway was a pair of bare feetthe the floor in front of him. He followed the legs and quiet laughter as they disappeared under the table. A young woman was listening to a story from the little boy Perenelle kept to help with chores and run errands. He was pointing to a tiny lizard in the corner and chattering in his lilting child talk.
"What have you got under there, Velutha?"
The little boy's chin jerked up, and he stared up at Albus with eyes like pieces of dark chocolate. The grin that split his smooth face was sudden and bright. He clambered out from beneath the table with a laugh like marbles clinking together in a pocket, and ran off toward the kitchen.
Albus bent down and offered his hand to the bent head emerging. Her hair pooled on his forearm for a moment, then slid off like liquid.
White teeth against gold skin. An uncertain smile. "He was telling me about the adventures of the lizard."
"A most enjoyable way to spend an evening. I'm sure the lizard has led a more exciting life than any of us ever shall."
"Judging by some of his exploits, let us hope that is the case."
"You are the niece, I assume?"
"Freya."
"Very impressive. A Norse goddess?"
Wider smile. "Yes. My mother was fascinated by Norse mythology. Imagine, a good Greek girl. And she totally ignored all the deities just preening about her own yard."
"There is nothing quite so interesting as a place that is not your own."
"Perhap "I'm Albus Dumbledore."
"I know. I've seen you before."
"Oh? I'm sorry…"
"I don't expect you would remember it. It was a long time ago. I was a child. I saw you at the opening of Wagner's opera. Die Gotterdammerung. In Bavaria."
His eyes shot up and knitted together in surprise. Remembering the shining eyes of a small girl.
"You didn't have a beard then."
"Ah." He rubbed a palm over the crisp, reddish hair. "I've dispensed with shaving lately, I'm afraid."
"I like beards."

 
 
Dinner was a pleasant blend of easy conversation and good wine. The Flamels were pleased to have Freya's company, and she was delighted with all that she had seen thus far.
"I was just waiting to graduate from Hogwarts so I could come see this place you both have happily called home for four hundred years."
"All the best minds, the most devoted scholars congregate here in the East at one time or another, " explained Nicholas. "We are never in want of interesting characters or stimulating conversation."
"But none have been so welcome a sight as you and Albus, ma petite, " interrupted Perenelle. " I have come over these many years to fully understand what my mother meant when she blessed me on my wedding day. She wished for me that my home would always be too small to house all my friends and family in at once."
Albus watched the curve of Freya's mouth as she smiled warmly, and it reminded him of the little ripples caused by the stones he had thrown into a pond as boy.

 
 
That night in his sleep Albus walked along a gray hall. He sensed, somewhere beneath the skin of his dream, that this was different somehow. Before he had dreamt of problems and their solutions, of small levers and clogs spinning in tiny measured clicks of time.
Time had packed its things and left long ago in this new place.
A woman appeared before him with long brown hair. He could not see her face, but he took her hand and she lead him down the hallway which had no end, and their footsteps made no sound. She stopped before a door and opened it.
The room was empty. As they entered she said, "There are four rooms here. This one waits for Rain." Another door appeared on the far wall and they passed through it as she spoke again.
"This one waits for Wind."
The next. "This one waits for Lightning."
They stopped in the fourth room. "This one waits for you."
He looked down at these words, but the woman was gone. In the corner was a wooden contraption of some kind, and draped over it was a beautiful woolen cloth. He reached out and touched it with the tips of his fingers. Something in his chest grew and bloomed outward like a bubble, and he felt as though he were touching Time itself and the histories of men lay before him, spread open to his eyes. Just as he felt the bubble would burst, he awoke.

 
 
 
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All homage to leogryffin, my wonderful beta. This story is for zagzagael (aka bleodswean) and rilla, who have banded with me to present to the world the true sex god that is Albus Dumbledore. It's all about the beard, ladies!! J


A/N:

Freya is one of the Norse goddesses. She was known to love flowers, spring, and music. She was also said to enjoy love poems and songs. She was a bit like the Venus of Roman mythology; goddess of love and healing.
Nicholas Flamel existed in real life, worked in alchemy and was reported to have made the Philosopher's Stone. His story is fascinating, made even more so by all the speculation about whether or not he really died. Some reports have placed him in the East, known to have attracted scholarly, enlightened types; specifically India.