This story is about Albus - whether Albus Dumbledore or Albus Potter, you decide. But either way the message stays the same.
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Coming to terms Feedback
Coming to Terms
Sobbing. Dry tears and wet handkerchief. Lying there. Motionless as he had done for days. Albus looked up at his mother. She gave no sign that anyone else was in the room, her bloodshot eyes fixed on her husband. She lifted her hand and sponged his forehead.
At that moment the door opened and the Healer re-entered. She smiled kindly at Albus who had turned in time to see her closing the door with a small snap.
'Madam, has there been any change?' the Healer spoke gently to the weeping woman who shook her head, her sobs renewed. Albus let his gaze fall back into his lap. The Healer began to prepare a sticky purple substance and rubbed some onto the man's forearm. Staring out of the window, Albus watched as cars passed by, slowly and then quicker, slower again and quicker. Just like his father's heart. Sometimes it slowed but then seemed to quicken as if he was running very fast, or fighting to keep his life. After some minutes the Healer took leave once more.
Tick tick tick. Evening sidled its way into the small room, fairly early still as it was only March, six-thirty, the clock on the wall said. All of a sudden the man's eyes shot open. He gasped and retched, his fingers clawing at the blankets covering his thin body. And as quickly as he had awoken there was silence once more. The man lay still. His sobbing wife began to shake violently as Albus jumped up and ran to the door, calling as loudly as he could for the Healer who arrived moments later.
She rushed over to her patient and peered into his half-open eyes. Then she slowly turned to the woman.
'I'm so sorry ...' the Healer said quietly. What did she mean? Albus didn't understand, sorry, why? His mother gave a scream and threw herself on the man' lifeless body.
* * * * *
'Dearly beloved, we be gathered here today to celebrate the life and mourn the death of a truly courageous man who ...' the old wizard read from his small black book, clearly not meaning a word of what he was saying. How could he mean it, Albus thought, the priest had not even known his father. His mother had dressed him in a neat black suit, she herself with a black veil covering her tear stained face. His brother sat staring into his lap, his arm around his fidgeting sister. There were only a few other people sat in the chairs set out in front of the varnished black coffin. His mother had not wanted too many people to come. Just those she trusted. No one else knew of the death but those gathered around the coffin.
Somehow Albus couldn't come to terms with the fact that his father, the man who he loved so much, who had always been there for him and who he looked up to, would never again hug him. Albus would never again see the sparkle in his father's eyes or the warm smile playing on his lips.
A sunlit scene drifted into his head. A baby lying on a blanket, her feet wiggling in the air, giggling as her brother tickled the soles of her feet. The baby's mother looking on with pride, by her side her husband, observing his three children blissfully. He then beckoned Albus closer.
'Albus, do you know what this is?' he held up a small red marble, his voice so low that only Albus could hear. He shook his head and his father pressed it into his hand.
'You'll need it. When you need someone to talk to just hold it in your hand and say 'I need a friend' and I'll be there for you. It'll come in handy at Hogwarts, believe me.' the man smiled down at his son who slipped his hand into his pocket, the marble clutched in his fist.
Albus pulled his hand out of his pocket and looked down at the small marble. Only a dim ray of sunshine shone down through the thick clouds. He had carried it with him ever since his father had pressed it into his hand on that happy carefree day. He looked over as the priest shut his book. His mother remained weeping into her hands. Albus stood up and walked over to the hole in which the coffin had been placed. Kneeling on the damp soil, he stared six feet down into the hole in which his father now lay. Or at least his father's body. Looking round to see only his mother, brother and sister remaining, their eyes staring into the damp grass, Albus clutched the red glass bead tightly and whispered 'I need a friend'. A small gust of wind blew a leaf over the grass and into the grave.
But Albus wasn't about to give up. He lay down on his front and leaned into the hole and repeated his words but louder this time. Nothing. Not even the wind.
Albus knew his father would never lie to him. As he pushed himself back out of the hole his hand slipped and the marble slipped, its shiny surface cracking on the dark wood of the coffin. A tear ran down Albus's face, the first time he had cried since his father had died.
He would never see his father again, he would never sit with him at the dinner table making jokes or playing exploding snap. He would never again hear the warm laughter of the father he had always loved and looked up to.
A sudden rage coursed through him. No one had expected the unremarkable wizard to pick up his wand that morning and go out into the street to blast people apart, everyone he saw, only to turn the wand on himself to escape justice. But then the rage subsided and only a forlorn little boy was left, his family torn apart by the loss of a father, a husband, a son, a brother and above all, a blameless, innocent victim.
He remembered something his father had once said to him.
Those we love never truly leave us...
+ In Memoriam +