Summary: Albus Potter is lost: guilt and grief have driven him to a desperate search for the Deathly Hallows, and Harry must confront his son before it is too late. Their confrontation, however, ends in disaster as Albus disappears with two of the Hallows.
As he continues his search for the Resurrection Stone, Albus remembers the shadowy road that lead him to his confrontation with his father – and must face both his brother and the tragic loss that has driven him so far down dark paths.
Albus must journey deep within to conquer the darkness that surrounds him. Will he find what he seeks? Or will Albus be lost to his loved ones forever?
This story is now complete.
Categories: Next Generation Characters: None
Warnings: Abuse, Character Death, Slash, Violence
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 7
Completed: Yes
Word count: 20197
Read: 24560
Published: 11/02/08
Updated: 03/28/10
Story Notes:
All publicly recognizable characters, settings, plot, etc. are the property of J.K.Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters and plot are the property of the author, who greatly appreciates the opportunity to write this story.
Also, this story was originally submitted as a Post-Hogwarts story, but moved to the new Next-Generation category as that more accurately reflects its focus.
1. Chapter One - Confrontation by Gmariam
2. Chapter Two - Falling by Gmariam
3. Chapter Three - Bittersweet by Gmariam
4. Chapter Four - Shame by Gmariam
5. Chapter Five - Possibilities by Gmariam
6. Chapter Six - Journey by Gmariam
7. Epilogue by Gmariam
Chapter One - Confrontation by Gmariam
Chapter One - Confrontation
The darkness was complete: Harry could see nothing and felt the sinister gloom wrap around him like a malevolent snake threatening to strangle his last hope. He raised his wand to light the way, and for the first time in many years, the soft glow was unable to chase away the shadows.
It had been many years, too, since he had been in the Forbidden Forest. A sense of foreboding surrounded him like fog; the trees were a living presence that mocked his passage, while forest creatures crept around him, murmuring with unseen malice. Black roots leaped from the ground to trip him, and chill breezes whispered tauntingly, whipping the cloak around his ankles. Harry shivered and was transported back to his first journey into the forest, so long ago, and the paralyzing fear that had closed around him. And then another trip into the forest, many years after: a trip that had changed not only his own life, but perhaps the course of magical historyâ”
He shook himself, forcing aside memories of the past to concentrate on the present. He felt a different fear pushing at the edges of his mind: the fear of loss tinged with despair, as well as the anger he always felt when death and magic threatened those he loved.
For that was what he fought once again: ancient magic and the desperate desires it promised to satisfy, when in truth it could never fulfill such dreams, but only warped the soul. Harry was not fighting his son, for Albus had been cunningly lead down a subtle path, lined with painful grief that made him vulnerable. He was not fighting Albus, but his sonâs furious anguish, pain, and hopeless yearning for what he had lost.
A cry split the night nearby, startling Harry and sending goose pimples down his flesh. The beasts of the forest roamed invisible around him, seemed to haunt his every step. He steeled himself and raised his wand higher, desperately trying to drown out the dark with the dim light from his wand. A sudden longing for the Elder Wand surprised him, for he had given little thought to the Deathly Hallows for almost three decades; but they had, in part, drawn him back here, so it was only natural that he would find himself thinking of the magical talisman he had hidden away not far behind him on the grounds of Hogwarts.
Another lay lost in the dirt, dropped long ago, presumed lost forever. It was that object which drew Albus into the Forest, drove his last remaining hope over the edge toward obsession. But the ring Harry had lost during his final battle with Voldemort would not bring back his sonâs loss, and Harry regretted ever telling his children the story of the Deathly Hallows, because it had given Albus such hopeless faith.
The third Hallow was tucked into his robes, an old habit he had never given up, and Harry fingered it as if to reassure himself that the cloak was still there. He shook his head of memories and remorse and plunged on into the shadows. He slowed as he heard quiet noise: the sound of the earth being overturned, and the restless muttering of his son, desperately digging for the Resurrection Stone.
Albus was covered in dirt; his arms were scratched, and his clothes were ripped and torn. He knelt on the ground in a familiar clearing, lit by a tongue of blue fire. It was the clearing where Aragog had once lived, where Voldemort and his forces had gathered for their last great battle. His wand tossed to the side, Albus clawed at the ground with his bare hands, throwing aside leaves and sticks and dirt, his face set with determination.
âAlbus,â Harry called softly, lowering his wand and placing it in his robes so he would not appear threatening. The boyâ”the manâ”in the clearing looked up, and his face was hollow and gaunt from weeks of suffering in silence. The once sparkling green eyes had lost their brightness, and his mouth was a straight line of stoic sadness permanently etched across a pale face.
Albus gazed blankly at his father, scowled, then returned to his frantic work. âGo away, Dad.â
âAlbus,â replied Harry, his heart breaking. âCome home. Itâs not here. You canât find it, itâs lost forever.â
Albus ignored him, and Harry moved into the clearing. âIt wonât bring him back.â
Albus shot him a glare of anger over his shoulder as he picked up his wand and moved away to another section of the clearing to continue searching. âWhat do you know?â he snarled.
Harry felt his own prickly temper, near to the surface due to his anxiety and dark memories of this place, flare dangerously. âIâm the only one who knows,â he snapped, and then stopped himself. âIâm the one who used it, and it didnât bring back my parentsâ”only ghosts of the past.â
âIt will work,â replied Albus, but this time his tone was softer, sadder. âIt has to.â
Once again Harry felt his heart break for his sonâs loss. He knew pain and knew what it meant to lose someone closeâ”he had lost so many loved ones over the years it had been hard to go on at times. He knew what it could do to a person, and feared that Albus was dangerously close to allowing his pain to drive him too far.
âNothing can bring the dead back to life, Albus,â he said gently. âMarcum is gone.â
âDonât say that!â Albus cried, suddenly jumping to his feet and brandishing the Elder Wand at his father. Harry was too stunned to even react; his own holly wand remained in his robes and he simply showed Albus his upturned hands. Harry did not even ask how Albus had found his namesakeâs wand, because of course he would have figured it out, he was a Ravenclaw; still, it would not work for him, for the wandâs allegiance still belonged to Harry, even after so many years. And even the power of all three Hallows would not bring Marcum back in the way Albus so desperately desired.
âIâm not going to hurt you,â said Harry, hoping his son could somehow feel his love and compassion. âI just want to help.â
âHelp me find the ring,â said Albus flatly, still pointing the wand at Harry. Harry shook his head; he knew it wasnât the answer, as much as he wished it were, for both of them.
âThen leave me alone,â Albus repeated, and turning his back, he left the clearing. Without another word he continued into the dark forest alone, as if trying to escape the confrontation.
Harry let out a breath he didnât know he had been holding, took another, and plunged into the woods after his son. He had not come so far only to lose him; he would do anything to save him, even if he had to use magic.
âAlbus!â he called, but quickly realized his mistake in following. Albus turned and with a furious scowl he cried, âLocomotor Mortis!â
Years of fighting Dark wizards had honed Harryâs reflexes to lightning quick reactions: he whipped out his wand to cast a Shield Charm and just barely restrained himself from firing back.
âAlbus!â he shouted as Albus turned and walked away once more. âYou canât fight me, you know that. I just want to help you.â
âI donât need you!â Albus yelled over his shoulder, his face contorted in anger and grief. âNot unless you help me find the ring.â
âI wonât, because you know the Stone isnât the answer. The Hallows wonât bring Marcum back to life!â
âLeave me alone!â Albus screamed, and fired another spell at Harry. Once again Harry blocked the spell, sending the jet of yellow light into the woods. Albus fired again and again, each spell growing more desperate, and each blocked by Harryâs shield as he slowly edged his way toward his grieving son.
Harry was surprised at the boyâs furious power, and finally bit his lip before he cast an Impediment Jinx at Albus, forcing the boy to ground. He ran up and kneeled next to him, arms reaching for his youngest son; but Albus pushed him away and rolled over, breathing hard. Harry felt his eyes sting with tears as Albus glared at him.
âI wonât give up, Dad,â he gasped, holding his side. âI canât. Not when I know itâs possibleâ”that I can at least see him again.â
Harry shook his head at his sonâs painful stubbornness. âAl, you know the story. The Stone wonât bring him back to life, it will only bring back a pale shadow of who he was, trapping him between life and death.â Harry stood and offered his hand to help Albus up, but once more his son rejected him, and Harry tried not to let Albus see how much that hurt him. âHeâs already moved on, donât disturb his peace. He would be unhappy, and so would you.â
âYou donât understand,â Albus muttered, as he stood and moved away.
Harry lost his patience again. âThe hell I donâtâ!â he snapped, hoping to get Albusâs attention with harsh words if he could not with compassion. âIâve lost more people than I want to remember. When my godfather died, I was devastated. I was desperate to find a way to bring him back. But itâs not possible, Al, and thatâs okay.â He let his voice soften. âDeath is but the next great adventure.â He smiled as he remembered Albus Dumbledore saying those words to him during his first year at Hogwarts; his son, however, grew angry again.
âAn adventure? Itâs an adventure for one, dad!â he cried. âHow is that great for anyoneâ”to be alone, in life and death?â
âIs that what you think? That you are alone?â asked Harry, feeling like he had been kicked in the stomach. How could Albus feel alone, when he had a loving family and friends who cared for him? Then he remembered the many times he had felt alone, and why, and began to understand his son.
Albus had gone to Hogwarts concerned about being Sorted into Slytherin. Instead of following his brotherâ”and the rest of his familyâ”into Gryffindor, he had been Sorted into Ravenclaw, where he had met Marcum, whose own family had traditionally been in Hufflepuff. Both placed into an unexpected House, they had forged a quick and strong friendship that had grown into much more over their years together.
Upon graduating from Hogwarts, Albus and Marcum had both joined the Ministry, renting a flat together in Muggle London just outside of Diagon Alley. Marcum had been killed not long after by a gang of Muggles, though not for being a wizard. Harry understood that Albus felt responsible for the attack, and guilty for not being able to save his partner, as hard as he had tried.
Though friends and family had tried to reach out and support him, Albus had spiraled into a deep depression and isolated himself. Rose, his cousin, suspected that a co-worker was whispering about retribution and revenge, and soon Albusâs grief twisted to hatred of the Muggles who had killed Marcum. He began to patronize Knockturn Alley with a crowd of young wizards who held their own prejudices against Muggles and frequently acted on them. Albus had been manipulated, and did not see the darkness gathering around him; for a while he had sought refuge from his pain in Dark Magic, though it did not alleviate his grief.
Soon, however, Albus had come to realize his unique knowledge of the Hallows might be his last chance to see Marcum once more, and he set out to forge a new path by retrieving them allâ”alone. James had tried to talk to Albus and had finally warned his parents that his brother was willing to risk everything. Harry had set out immediately to stop him, instinctively knowing where he would find Albus.
Yes, Harry understood his son, but like any young man caught in the whirlwind of powerful emotions, Albus would not believe that his father could understand what he was going through. He didnât answer Harryâs question, only looked skeptical at the asking, so Harry continued. âI know you and Marcum were close, Albus, but there are so many other people who love you, you must see that you are not alone.â
Albus raised his eyebrows in scorn. âLike I said, Dad, you donât understand. Go back home.â
âCome with me and explain,â pleaded Harry. âHelp me understand.â
Albus appeared tempted as a number of emotions played across his face: grief, guilt, and love. Then anger appeared as he remembered his loss, and Harry saw the dark look in his sonâs eyes as he shut down and closed his heart. There was only one thing he desired now: to master death with the power of the Deathly Hallows.
âNo,â he said, shaking his head very calmly. âIâm not like you, Dad. I wonât accept it. I canât walk away. Death is not the end.â
âYou can,â Harry answered, hearing the desperation in his voice. âYou can walk away from here and move on. We can help you.â
âI donât want your help!â Albus shouted, backing away, his green eyes blazing now. âI want the ring. I wonât give upâ”Iâm not like you!â He turned and walked away once more.
âYou are exactly like me,â Harry said softly, and he knew the words cut when Albus stopped, his back stiff. âOnly weaker.â He hated saying it, but needed to bring Albus back to him before it was too late; he only hoped he wasnât pushing too hard.
Albus took a deep breath. âIâm sorry, Dad,â he said, his voice equally as quiet. âI really am.â And without warning he turned and fired spell after spell, catching Harry off-guard this time. The first one glanced off his arm; the second he parried away. Before he even had time to cast a shield, Albus advanced on him, his wand a blur, his eyes frighteningly blank. Harry was taken aback by his sonâs brute force and agile quickness, and found himself working hard to parry each spell. Finally, he was forced to cast a Stunning Spell, hoping to bring Albus down and take him home by force.
To his shock, Albus angrily parried the Stunner away, and rapidly fired three of his own, wearing down his father until a jet of red light finally hit Harryâs leg and he fell to the ground, numb. Albus cast a binding spell, sending thick white ropes around Harryâs lower body, and then cried, âExpelliarmus!â
Harryâs wand flew into his sonâs hand. Albus looked at it with disinterest, and then tossed it behind him. âNow the Elder Wand is truly mine,â he said, his voice flat. He knelt down next to Harry and took the Invisibility Cloak from under his robes. âAs is the Cloak. And I will find the Resurrection Stone, Dad.â Without another word he turned and Apparated out of the Forest, two Hallows tucked under his arm.
Harry let his head fall back to the ground and swore. Albus had bested him and left him trussed up alone in the woods. His son now had the Elder Wand and the Cloak; it was only a matter of time before Albus found the Resurrection Stone, for he had just proved he was willing to do anything to reunite the Deathly Hallows.
Harry had not only lost the duel, but had lost his son as well. He could only hope that Albus would find his way back before it was too late.
* * *
End Notes:
I have been sitting on this story for quite a while, debating whether or not to share it. There is more, obviously: how Albus came to be in the Forbidden Forest, and what happens after he leaves. I donât know whether I will tell those stories next week, next month, or next year; but this scene spoke to me so strongly â“ this confrontation between Harry and his son â“ that I had to write it and share it. I do hope you enjoyed it, and hope that I can bring you the rest of the tale soon.
Chapter Two - Falling by Gmariam
Author's Notes:
There may be offensive language in this chapter in regards to the central gay couple. I assure you such language does not reflect my own values, but those of the characters only. Although I considered censoring it, it is an important part of the story; it was used to further the drama of a very tense and emotional confrontation with tragic consequences, and with no intent to offend anyone who may be reading.
Chapter Two â“ Falling
The crisp night air blew briskly through the streets of London, sending Muggle and Wizard alike scurrying quickly to warm shelter. Albus Potter walked with shoulders hunched, hands tucked into his pockets; yet the lined fleece that had seemed fine in the morning did little to warm them now.
âHere, let me,â said Marcum, grinning as he took Albusâs hand in his own and rubbed it warm. Albus glanced around the street, but it was dark and empty aside from a group of patrons outside the pub across the way.
âHow is it that you are perfectly comfortable in thatâ”âAlbus gestured at Marcumâs thin pullover ââ”and Iâm freezing in this?â
Marcum laughed and leaned in close, blond hair falling in front of his brown eyes. âAre you a wizard or not?â he asked conspiratorially with a wink. âDonât you know any warming spells?â
Albus groaned â“ he hadnât even thought of a spell for the walk back to their flat. And he was the Ravenclaw!
âNice of you to share, Hufflepuff,â he groused, and they both laughed and moved closer together for warmth. Across the street a small group of men left the crowd outside the pub, heading in the same direction. For some reason, it made Albus uneasy, and he took his hand from Marcumâs warm embrace.
Marcum raised his eyebrow but did not say anything. âI think we might get some snow soon,â he remarked nonchalantly, following Albusâs gaze.
âYes,â replied Albus absently, still feeling uncomfortable. âLetâs hurry,â he added in a lower voice. The men from the pub had crossed the street and were approaching them deliberately, whistling and jeering loudly. Albus put his hand on his wand, hidden inside his coat pocket.
âEasy,â whispered Marcum. âTheyâll think youâre armed.â
âI am,â Albus hissed back.
âYou canât use your wand against Muggles,â Marcum reminded him.
Albus did not reply: the men had stopped directly in front of them and were blocking the way. There were only three of them, but they were obviously drunk and looking for a fight.
âHey, faggots,â jeered a brutish-looking man with black hair. âCare to have some fun tonight?â
âNot with you,â Albus snapped. His hair-trigger temper set off by both the crude insult and vulgar invitation, he tried hard to keep his wand concealed and not shove it in the manâs threatening face.
âOh, but we do,â sneered one of the manâs companions; he pulled a small knife from his pocket. âOur kind of fun, not yours, of course.â
âWe prefer ours,â murmured Marcum, eyeing the knife both doubtfully and warily.
âIâm sure you do, flyboy,â the first man said, pulling out a Muggle weapon Albus recognized as a gun. âBut weâre in charge now.â Albus felt Marcum stiffen next to him, and out of the corner of his eye saw Marcumâs hand reach toward his back pocket.
The black-haired man motioned with the gun. âHands were we can see them, twinkâ”for now,â he added, and his companions laughed. Albus wondered how fast he could draw his wand before the man fired his own weapon.
âWhat do you want?â asked Marcum, his voice far more casual than his body language.
âJust for you lot of queers to disappear,â snapped the man with the knife. âBut weâll settle for a little sport instead.â
Albus lunged forward with a snarl, but Marcum stopped him, steadying him with a calm whisper. Their attackers laughed.
âLook, heâs protecting his boyfriend,â jeered the first man. âGoing to play kissy-face now, boys?â
âYou have a problem with that?â asked Marcum, his voice colder now, while Albus seethed inwardly. âBecause itâs really none of your business.â
âYes, we do,â spoke the third man, who had stood behind the other two, silent until now. He stepped into a pool of light to reveal a cruel face and glittering eyes. âAnd yes, it is.â
âPiss off,â snapped Albus, pulling out his wand; next to him Marcum remained motionless, frowning.
The cruel-looking man merely raised a thin eyebrow. âGoing to poke me with your stick, are you?â The other two men laughed again, and Albus grew tired of the confrontation, in spite of Marcumâs caution.
âNot exactly,â he replied, and fired a Body-Binding Curse at the man, dropping him to the ground instantly.
The next moments seemed to pass in slow motion: the cruel manâs companions turned to look at their fallen comrade; Marcum pulled out his wand; the black-haired man whirled around and fired his gun at Albus; Marcum threw up a Shield Charm. There was a loud noise like a spell backfiring, and Marcum sank to the ground, clutching his chest. With a snarl Albus Stunned both men and they too fell to the pavement, unconscious.
Less than a minute had passed and he was the only one standing.
Albus dropped down next to Marcum, shaking his head in disbelief. A bright pool of blood was gathering underneath Marcum, and his eyes were half closed with pain. Albus tried a basic healing spell, but Marcum cried out in agony. Albus gently picked up his partner and heard him whisper, âIâm sorry,â before Marcum lost consciousness. With a heart-wrenching sob, Albus turned and Apparated to St. Mungoâs with Marcum limp in his arms.
* * *
Albus shook off the terrible memories of that time: of arriving at St. Mungoâs too late to save Marcum; of the long night he spent laying by Marcumâs side until his parents had gently taken him home; of Marcumâs funeral, beautiful yet so final. As he plunged deeper into the forest, he remembered instead the terrible sorrow that had enveloped him every day, and how desperate he had been to forget that horrible night. Thoughts of revenge had pushed him toward dark places. . .
* * *
Albus tossed a stone into the small fountain, blankly watching as the rippling circles spread across the sparkling water. He felt like that rock: surrounded by light but sinking, falling father and farther into a darkness he couldnât escape.
Shaking his hands free of dirt, Albus stood as he sensed his cousin approach. He arranged his face into the stoic mask he had adopted since Marcumâs death and turned to greet her.
âHi, Albus,â said Rose Weasley, her strawberry hair blowing in the spring breeze. âHow are you?â She hugged him, and he felt her concern even as he saw it in her face.
He shrugged his answer as they began walking. They were both in Muggle London for the day and had decided to meet for lunch; or rather, Roseâs owl had insisted on his affirmative reply by refusing to leave his shoulder for several hours. Rose was doing research for her Advanced Muggle Studies degree, and Albus had come for the trial of Marcumâs murderers.
The Muggle trial. Because the men were not wizards, the Wizengamot had no authority over their punishment. Albusâs mother had pushed them to pressure the Muggle authorities for an arrest and trial. The proceedings had just begun, and soon Albus would be called to testify, forced to relive those short but horrible moments that had changed everything. He knew she would bring it up next.
âSo how did it go today?â
Albus sighed; he wanted to tell her how difficult it had been to see Marcumâs killers in Muggle court every day for the past week. They were close, and she had really been there for him in the weeks after Marcumâs murder. She had checked on him everyday, and even stayed with him when he couldnât take care of the flat and wouldnât eat. But he held back, not wanting to inflict his anger on her; and in some ways, keeping it inside and to himself was all he had left.
âIt must be so hard,â she said softly, her eyes searching his face. She hooked her arm in his. âDo you want to talk about it?â
He wanted to tell her, he really did. Marcumâs killers had leered at him as if he had never sent them flying with a cast of his wand; but the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad had made sure to wipe their memories after Albus had arrived at St. Mungoâs that night, and so they had no idea he was a powerful wizard who could immobilize them with a single word. And he wanted to, he wanted to hurt them for what they had done, and that single thought escaped before he could stop it.
âAll I could think while I sat there was how badly I wanted to curseâ”â
âOh Albus,â Rose interrupted, before he could finish his crude sentence. âI know you want to hurt them, but what good would that do now? And just because we have magical powers, doesnât mean we should use them against Muggles just because we canâ”or want to.â
âYou sound just like your mum!â Albus replied ruefully, shaking his head.
Rose nodded sagely. âMight is not right. And the Muggle world has its own justice system. Although, I have to admit Iâd much rather see them in the Wizengamot than some Muggle court!â
âExactly!â agreed Albus as they continued toward Diagon Alley for lunch. âBut why isnât might right sometimes? If we have the power to punish them, why shouldnât we? I hate waiting for the Muggles to just throw them in one their ridiculous jails. They should rot in Azkabanâ”or worse!â
Rose stopped and turned to face him, her eyes alarmed. âAl! Are you still going to Knockturn Alley with Scorpius Malfoy and his gang? That sounds just like something theyâd say.â
âMaybe theyâre right,â Albus grumbled, not admitting to his continued nocturnal wanderings. He had indeed been frequenting Knockturn Alley more and more. As distasteful as he found it, he also found it oddly comforting to hear those secret thoughts he was having spoken out loud. He sometimes burned with the need to go after the men who had killed Marcum, though deep down he knew it was wrong. He might not agree with everything the crowd in the Hagâs Rest said, but he agreed with enough to quench his thirst for revenge.
âAlbus Severus Potter!â Rose exclaimed. âHow could you say such things? Muggles need to be protected from magic, not subjected to it.â
Albus frowned. âI donât want to rule them, Rose â“ I just want justice. It would be easy. Theyâre weak â“ I took out three of them that night and could easily do it again.â
Rose stared hard at him. âAnd Marcum died anyway, so fat lot of good magic did,â she said coldly. She knew it would hurt; she said it to snap him back. When she saw the stunned look on his face, she nodded and continued walking. âDonât forget, we both have Muggle heritageâ“ your grandmother and my mother were both Muggleborns!â
Albus didnât say anything; he was well aware of the fact, which only compounded how guilty he felt every time he stepped back into Knockturn Alley. And yet they had some strong points about Muggles and power and revenge. . .
âHave you been to the cemetery recently?â Rose interrupted his thoughts, deliberately changing the subject. They had argued over his visits to Knockturn Alley before, and she had even gone to James to express her concern. He knew she was worried, but was glad she had decided to drop it; the trial was enough to deal with without getting into his personal life as well.
âNo,â he replied softly. In fact, he hadnât ever gone to the cemetery, because he couldnât bring himself to visit Marcumâs grave, and she knew that. He still struggled to get up every morning and move forward with his life, and he felt like going to the cemetery would trap him in the past forever. At the same time, he clung to his memories and did not want to give them up to the finality of death.
Death. At times the grief was still too strong to bear; at other timesâ”like at the trialâ”it was anger; but always underneath, like an incurable disease that slowly sapped him of his strength, simmered the terrible guilt Albus felt every day. It was his fault: he had drawn his wand, he had Stunned the first man, he had failed to protect Marcum even as his partner had saved him. And now he was visiting Knockturn Alley, with thoughts of revenge that he knew were wrong and didnât have the courage to act on anyway in order to get justice for Marcum.
That was what kept him from the cemetery more than anything: guilt, for all that he had done and failed to do.
Rose sighed. âYou should go, I think it would help,â she said. Albus shook his head; he couldnât face Marcum, not after failing him in so many ways. âHe doesnât blame you, you know.â Albusâs head shot up; sometimes it was like Rose could read his mind.
âWherever he is, Albus,â she said softly, âMarcumâs not angry with you, and he wouldnât want you to do anything to compromise yourself. He wasnât like that and you know it.â
Albus didnât know what to say: she was probably right, and he felt his guilt swell as he realized how he continued to let people down, even Rose. âWould you like to go after the trial?â she finally asked.
Albus swallowed hard: he could say no, back away and continue to isolate himself with his grief, guilt, and the desire for revenge; or he could say yes, and begin the slow process of healing and moving on.
He just didnât know if he couldâ”or if it was worth even trying.
* * *
As he continued through the shadowy trees, Albus remembered the trial, and how difficult it had been to finally testify in front of Marcumâs killers. Their conviction of a lesser charge and sentence of time served had donenothing to lift his spirits: in fact it had confirmed his lack of faith in the Muggle justice system and only augmented his deep anger and desire for revenge. So he had taken care of it, though it brought little respite to his troubled soul to use an Unforgivable Curse on the whimpering men. He felt like something was wrong with him, that he could do such things, and that he could still not move on; and though he recognized the vicious cycle he had fallen into, he was unable to break out of it, even when he had finally gone to the cemetery and confessed. . .
* * *
The summer breeze should have warmed him, but he still he felt cold; the sun was shining down upon a beautiful day and yet it was if he were walking through shadows. He regretted coming almost as soon as he had finished Apparating, and would have turned again to leave if Rose hadnât appeared next to him and staggered.
âBollocks,â she said as she caught her balance. âI take after my dad, it took him a while to get a hang of it as well.â
Albus didnât say anything; he just glanced around the quiet park where they had materialized, his heart pounding.
âCome on,â Rose said softly, taking his hand. âHeâs over here.â They walked slowly across the field toward a small oak tree, where a stone marker underneath read:
Marcum Sloane
2006 â“ 2025
Loyal and True
Crushing sadness did not immediately send him to his knees, as he thought it would when he finally came to see the grave. Instead, the bitter sorrow inside grew stronger and his chest became tight with it as if his heart would break. And again he felt that something was wrong with him, something that he didnât understand and couldnât share with anyone because they wouldnât understand either.
More than anything, he felt terribly alone as he stood there looking down at his partnerâs grave, and longed to be with Marcum again.
âIâll leave you by yourself for a few minutes,â Rose said softly, and walked across the field to a bench near a small copse of trees. Albus stood there on his own, not knowing what to say or do or feel. Finally he said the only thing he could:
âIâm sorry.â
And then he fell to his knees. He choked back sobs as he reached toward the tombstone to touch the letters carved in cold stone. Marcum was dead, he had to move on; but first he would say all those things he had to say, because Marcum was the only one Albus could say them to.
He told Marcum how sorry he was for casting the first curse, for not blocking the bullet that had taken Marcumâs life, for not getting to St. Mungoâs fast enough. He told him about the trial and how angry it made him to see the three men from the pub go free. He told him how he had started going to Knockturn Alley and began seeing a group of Scorpius Malfoyâs friends. He told him how he had finally heeded their advice and taken justice into his own hands, punishing Marcumâs killers with the Cruciatus Curse. He told Marcum how sick it had made him, and how sorry he was, for what he had done and what he had become.
He confessed his guilt, his grief, his anger, and his loss. It poured from him to fall upon the green grass; and though he felt lighter for it, he also felt empty. A desperate desire to fill that emptiness took hold of his heart.
Albus finally wiped his eyes dry, though he hadnât even been aware that he was crying. He stood and conjured a single crimson rose and placed it upon the grass. He heard Rose come up behind him and coughed to clear his throat of emotions he had no wish to share with anyone else.
Rose gently took his hand, looking into his eyes with liquid empathy. âIâm so sorry, Albus. I wish you could see him one more timeâ”truly say goodbye.â
It was a throwaway comment but it made his breath catch in his throat. He could say goodbye. There was a way he could see Marcum again. His father had done it, why couldnât he?
âI can,â he breathed, not realizing he said it out loud.
âWhat?â asked Rose, turning to face him. âWhat are you talking about?â
âI can bring him back,â Albus whispered, the tiniest flicker of hope beginning to beat in his heart. It was what he needed to replace the emptiness in his chest.
âHow?â asked Rose, confused. âItâs not possible, not even in the Department of Mysteries. There are no spells, no potionsâ”â
âThe Resurrection Stone,â said Albus. âThereâs the Resurrection Stone.â
Albus saw her shoulders fall and her face crumple up in concern. He knew it was a long shot but he also knew it was his only chance to save himself. He steeled to her coming protests.
âAl, thatâs a myth, a legend, somethingâ”â she began.
âSomething our parents found and used to destroy Lord Voldemort.â
She looked skeptical. âThe Hallows didnât destroy Voldemort, your father killed him with a simple spell. The Hallows are just three magical objects that people like to think are infallible, when really they are just like any other wand, or stone, or invisibility cloak.â
âHow can you say that?â Albus exclaimed. âYou heard the same stories I did growing up, youâve seen my dadâs cloakâ”how can you doubt them?â
âMy mum saysâ”â
âHang Aunt Hermione!â Albus retorted. âShe was there, she just doesnât want to admit itâs true, after all these years. My dad had the Resurrection Stone, Rose. He turned it three times and his parents came back. His parents! If he can use it, why canât I?â
âFor one, because he dropped it in the middle of the Forbidden Forest over twenty-five years ago!â
âI can find it.â He had to. He felt like he could finally do something with his life; rather than dwelling on all that he had lost, he could now look forward to something more. He would do anything he had to in order the find the Stone.
âBut donât you need all three for it to work?â Rose looked sick with herself for even asking it.
âNo, but Iâll get them all,â Albus replied; he felt the fire within and knew Rose saw it in his eyes. âDonât you see? I'd be Master of Death! I have to try! If I could see Marcum again, just for a moment, I might â“â he cut himself off, not wanting to share his deepest feelings. He would see Marcum again, he would tell him how sorry he was in person, and maybe the guilt would go away. Maybe he could truly say goodbye.
Or maybe he wouldnât have to: maybe he could truly bring him back.
* * *
Albus entered yet another clearing, still searching for the ring, but losing hope. He had spent months tracking down the Hallows, researching everything he could find about them. He had subtly questioned his family about the magical talismans, telling them it was for research at the Ministry. He had avoided Rose, but she had gone to James, and his brother had finally confronted him. It was James who had sent their father after him that night two weeks ago.
Albus regretted that last meeting with his father; he hadnât meant to lose control like that, to hurt him. He hadnât realized just how far he had fallen that he could do such things. And yet it was done, and he had two Hallows now. All he needed was the stone, and he could see Marcum again.
As the sun began to rise, Albus gave up and Apparated out of the Forest to the place he always returned since beginning his search. As he materialized in the field where Marcum lay, he was startled by a voice behind him. He turned to see a tall, dark-haired man standing against a small oak tree, holding a cracked stone ring in his hand.
âHello, Albus,â said James Potter.
* * *
End Notes:
Well, there it is â“ and I must admit itâs rather different than I had originally intended! I do hope, however, that you were able to feel a bit of Albusâs pain to better understand where he was in the first chapter. Thank you very much to laceymoibella for being my plot beta and helping me tweak it! And to my LJ friends who chatted and commented, and the modly types for their advice as well. I will be continuing, just as soon as James tells me what happens next. . .
Chapter Three - Bittersweet by Gmariam
Chapter Three - Bittersweet
âWhat the hell are you doing here?â snapped Albus, the Elder Wand pointing directly at his older brother. James was stunned at his brotherâs appearance: he looked gaunt, unkept, and had a desperate look in his eyes.
âIâm here to help you,â answered James. He left the cover of the tree and began walking toward Albus; he did not draw his wand.
âGreatâ”give me the Stone,â said Albus. James shook his head; that was exactly what he had expected his younger brother to say. He still held the Resurrection Stone in his hand, though he did not plan to hand it over; why then had he even revealed he had it?
âNot that way,â James replied, shaking off his doubt. âCome home with me. Mum and Dad are worried. We can help you.â
âDad sent you, didnât he?â asked Albus with a disgusted look on his face. âGo save your brother, James. Little lost Al. Forget itâ”I didnât need Dadâs help and I donât need yours either!â
âHe didnât send me,â James replied earnestly, knowing Albus would not believe him anyway. âFrankly, he hasnât said a word about what happened between you two. I think heâs too scared.â
That seemed to get through: family was important to Albus, in spite of all that may have happened over the past year. âScared of what?â Albus frowned. âOf me? Or the wand?â
âOf losing you,â said James honestly. âWeâre afraid of losing you.â
âWe all lose the people we love eventually,â Albus shrugged, though James knew the casual statement caused his brother great pain. âI have to do this. I have to.â
âYou canât really bring him back, Alâ”you know the story!â James came closer, hoping his brother could somehow sense his worry and concern. âPlease, come home with me.â
âI know I canât bring him back,â Albus said, and his eyes were haunted. âI just want to see him one more time.â
James knew his brotherâs sorrow was intense. Though at first it had been difficult for him to accept Marcum as part of their family, it did not take long for him to see just how much Albus cared about his partner. Marcum had balanced Albusâs temper and brazen stubbornness with his own calm and rational thinking, along with a wickedly clever wit. Marcum had quickly found a place in the Potter clan, even holding his own at the legendary Weasley gatherings. That he had died so soon had left the entire family saddened, and not just for Albusâs deep grief.
James was tempted to give him the Stone: Albus was drawn and pale, his face ground down by loss and his obsession with the Resurrection Stone these past months. If Albus used the Stone, perhaps that one last chance to see Marcum would help him move on. Yet that was not why James was there; he had not spent so much time looking for the Stone only to simply give the powerful talisman to his brother. He had come to help Albus, to save him from himself; handing him the Stone would only enable his continued grief and desperate desire to see Marcum again.
And yet why had he searched so hard, spent so many sleepless nights roaming the Forbidden Forest, hoping to find the Stone before Albus? He had only managed to find it by paying Hagrid a visit; after many drinks he had asked the giant to take him to the clearing where the giant spider had lived, and where his father had faced Voldemort while Hagrid stood captive. And still it had taken much searching to find the ring, dropped so long ago; perhaps it had finally wanted to be found.
Perhaps that was why had he brought it to the graveyard.
James was roused from his thoughts by a slight tug on his hand: Albus was trying to Summon the Stone. Before he could reactâ”or perhaps he did not really wish to stop him, deep downâ”the Stone flew from his hands toward Albus, who caught it as deftly as catching the Quaffle in a Quidditch game. He stared at it, his eyes unreadable.
âThanks, brother,â he said, and with a swift flick of his wand, he sent James flying backward away from the grave, to land hard upon the ground twenty feet away.
James cursed as he stood and wiped the leaves from his pants. Albus had the Stone now, and the consequences must play out. Again he wondered whether that was why he had really come to the graveyard.
He stood back and watched as Albus took a deep breath and turned the Stone three times in his hands. Slowly a white mist began to coalesce into the familiar form of Marcum Sloane. James saw his brotherâs shoulders straighten and could almost feel Albusâs grief dissipate for a few precious minutes. Though he did not want to intrude on such a private moment, he couldnât help but move closer.
Marcum looked the same as the day he had died, more solid than a ghost but less than a living person. He also appeared somewhat confused; he glanced around the graveyard, his eyes drawn to the headstone with his name on it, until they finally settled on Albus, and he shook his head almost ruefully.
âHi, Al,â he said. âFunny place for a reunion.â
James saw Albus wipe away a tear from his face, but also heard a familiar teasing tone in his brotherâs voice that had been missing for months. âItâs not bad â“ your own tree, some privacy, a nice view.â They grinned at each other, just like old times.
What did you say to someone who had died? What did you say to someone you had lost so suddenly and so tragically, someone you had loved so much? James felt awkward as the silence stretched between the two men, a silence in which they nevertheless spoke volumes to each other. He felt his own heart breaking again, as it had over a year ago when Albus had first lost Marcum; he couldnât imagine losing Sarah, his fiancĂ©e, and he dreaded the moment when Marcum would return to his place beyond the veil.
As Albus and Marcum continued their silent communion, James turned away. He breathed deeply in the fresh morning air and gave thanks that come spring he would enjoy life as a married man. He was marrying a girl who was everything he had ever hoped for in a partner: beautiful, talented, funny, and smartâ”so smart James sometimes wondered what an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries might see in a minor Quidditch Keeper like him. Thinking of his upcoming wedding was bittersweet, however, because it saddened him to think that Albus had lost the one person he hoped to spend the rest of his life with.
With a sigh, James gazed back at his brother and saw that he had moved closer to Marcum, and that they were now speaking; Albus had hung his head, and James thought that perhaps he was crying. He saw Marcum reach out to Albus, touch his face; Albus looked up and Marcum shook his head. Albus gestured almost wildy with his hands, and this time Marcum placed his own ghostly arms on Albusâs shoulders as if to calm him. Were they arguing?
James often wondered if Albus felt guilty about the night Marcum had died. Their cousin Rose seemed to think that he felt a great deal of remorse, not only for surviving, but for causing the confrontation that had taken his partnerâs lifeâ”and for failing to save Marcum, as hard as he had tried. James hoped that the ghost the ring had called back was laying his brotherâs guilt to rest at last, so that Albus might accept what had happened as the tragedy it was and begin to heal his lost soul.
Marcum placed his hand on Albusâs heart and leaned close. Albus shook his head, but Marcum smiled, kissed his forehead, and began to fade away, his voice a whisper on the wind. Albus fell to his knees, hands reaching blindly for his lost partner. He bowed his head and James saw his shoulders shake in silent sobs.
He felt his brotherâs pain as acutely as if it were his own; how could he have given him the Stone? What good had it done to see his loved one again, only to lose him â“ again? He hurried over to Albus and took him in his arms. Albus stiffened at first, but then collapsed onto his brother, his grief finally pouring out in rivers of sorrow upon the grass.
And then he began to quiet. He took several deep breaths and worked his way out of Jamesâs embrace. James helped him stand, and immediately noticed a frightening glint in his brotherâs eyes.
âThank you,â said Albus, wiping his face clean with his sleeve. âIâm okay now.â James was silent as Albus handed him the Stone. âYou might need this someday,â he said softly.
âI hope not,â murmured James, pocketing the Stone and gazing into his brotherâs unreadable face.
âI hope not too,â Albus replied. âAnd I hope you understand what I have to do now.â
James was starting to worry about the slightly mad look in his brotherâs eyes. He casually placed his hand on his wand, anticipating an attack much like the one Albus had had with their father.
Albus simply shook his head, his eyes still glowing strangely. âCould I have a moment?â he asked.
James nodded and backed away, still keeping a wary eye on his younger brother. Albus kneeled in the grass again. He seemed to be doing something with his wand; James assumed he was conjuring a flower or something similar until he heard a familiar voice on the wind:
âJames, stop him!â
Without thinking, James whipped out his wand and cried, âExpelliarmus!â The Elder Wand flew into his hand but Albus did not turn. James cast a second spell that sent Albus flying away from the grave; in his place was not the bouquet of flowers James had expected, but a small potions vial lying empty in the grass.
âYou didnât,â James breathed, his heart frozen in fear.
âHe did,â whispered the wind, as Albus tried to rise. He was already weak and fell to his knees. James began to run toward him.
âStay away from me,â Albus snarled, and he tried to throw a punch at James as he approached. James easily blocked it as Albus collapsed, his face clammy and pale.
âHelp him,â murmured the breeze one last time. âShow him what to live for.â
James nodded as he slung his brother over his shoulders. He had to get him to St. Mungoâs first. And then he would somehow show Albus the endless possibilities of his life â“ if he survived and could find his way.
* * *
End Notes:
And so the story continues â“ a short chapter, yes, but the next one looks to be quite a bit longer. It may take a while as I explore the Realm of Possibilities to see what life has in store for Albus. Thank you so much to laceymoibella for looking at this twice and offering her wonderful feedback and welcome assurances both times! And thank you for reading this story â“ I do appreciate feedback, and will answer any questions you might have as I have made some very deliberate choices thus far. And if youâd like to read more about Albus and Marcum, please read âGoodnight, Albus.â It is a series of ten drabbles following Albus through Hogwarts.
Chapter Four - Shame by Gmariam
Chapter 4 â“ Shame
Though the light was dim, it reached down through his eyelids and touched him gently, encouraging him to slowly wake up. Soft sounds reached his ears, and a dull metallic taste in his mouth made him wince as he swallowed past a parched throat. He opened his eyes and without even seeing, croaked, âSomething to drink, please.â
He heard the murmuring grow excited, but closed his eyes until a cool glass was held up to his lips and he could finally wash the terrible memory of the potion out of his mouth. And then it registered: he had failed.
Again.
With a deep sigh, Albus opened his eyes and gazed around the room at St. Mungoâs. Yes, he had failedâ”there was his mother, holding the glass, and his sister coming in with James. And in the back stood his father, looking more pale and frightened than Albus had ever seen him.
âGood morning, sleepyhead,â whispered his mother as she set the cup on the table next to his bedside. She cleared the hair from his eyes and laid her hand on his cheek. âItâs good to see you again.â
Albus didnât know what to say: was he glad to be alive? Or did he still want to be with Marcum? He couldnât decide: he felt guilty either way, as if wanting one more than the other betrayed those he would leave behind. He closed his eyes and felt a tear slip out. Perhaps it would be easier to just not care anymore.
His mother leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. âGet some rest, now, dear. Youâve been fighting a nasty potion these past few days.â
Albus opened his eyes in shockâ”days? âWhat happened?â he rasped, his mind a blur. He remembered finding James at the cemetery, remembered turning the Resurrection Stone and meeting Marcum one last time; and he remembered taking the terrible potion he had hidden at the gravesite long ago. He did not know how he had survived, or how he had made it to St. Mungoâs.
âYou took a Death Draught,â his father said, stepping up to join them. He looked grim, as if the near loss of his son had added years to his life instead of days. âWe thought weâd lost you. James found you at the cemetery and brought you here only just in time for the Healers to begin treating youâ”and even then itâs been hard.â He ran a hand through his hair, and it stood on end just as it always had, only now it was shot through with grey Albus could hardly remember seeing a year ago. Was that his fault?
His mother gazed down at him with a small smile. âThat was quite a potion you brewed, dearâ”fevers, chills, delirium. There were many moments when we didnât think youâd make it.â She appeared older as well: the lines in her face seemed etched deeper by worry and her eyes were dull and glistening. Lily sniffed and James put his arm around her shoulder, and Albus saw that they too looked tired and spent, as if they hadnât slept for days.
Because of him.
âIâm sorry,â he whispered, as the full realization of his selfishness the past year came crashing upon him and filled him with shame. âIâm so sorry.â
âOh, Albus,â his mother replied, and she took him in her arms. He was too tired, too emotionally exhausted to resist, though he did not deserve the love she was offering. âDonât be sorry. Weâre the ones who should be apologizing to you. Weâre sorry we didnât see it, that we couldnât stop the pain, that we couldnât help youâ”â
âYou tried,â Albus said, pulling away and looking at them. âYou tried so hard, and I failed you. All I could think about was Marcum, and his murderers, and the Resurrection Stone. . . â He trailed off as he saw his older brother shake his head almost imperceptibly. His father noticed and frowned, and Albus immediately understood that James had not told them he had found the Stone, nor that Albus had used it. The relief he felt was yet again compounded with shame, and he turned away so they could not see it in his face.
âItâs okay,â his mother said, patting his arm. âWeâre here for you now and we will do whatever you need us to do.â
Albus simply nodded; there was nothing he really wanted anymore. âCan I talk to James for a moment?â he asked. âPrivately?â
âOf course,â she replied. She kissed him on the cheek and stood up, motioning to the others. Albus could see that his father was reluctant to step out; his instincts were probably telling him that something was going on between his two sons. Yet his father could never know that Albus had used the Stone, because his father had been right, that night in the forest: Albus was weak.
James eyed him warily as everyone left the room, as if he might break at any moment. Albus did not know where to begin: so many different thoughts and feelings were running through his mind that didnât know how to start sorting them out. They were silent until they both began speaking at once.
âThank youâ”â
âI didnât teâ“â
âI know,â Albus said. âThank you for not telling them everything. But even more importantly, thank you for saving my life.â He tried not to sound as dull and bitter as he felt.
James let out a breath and grinned. âDamn, you scared us, Al.â He came and sat at the foot of the bed, shaking his head. âPlease donât ever do that that again.â
âDonât worry, I wonât.â Albus leaned back against his pillow, exhausted. âMarcum didnât want me to, anywayâ”I donât think heâs ready for me to join him yet.â
âSmart bloke, Marcum,â replied James. He fiddled with the blankets at the foot of them bed. âSo why did you do it?â he finally asked, gazing directly at his younger brother.
âI just couldnât. . . â Albus paused, unsure what he wanted to say next. Or rather, whether he could say it to James and ever be able to face his brotherâ”or himselfâ”again. Yet after what he had just been through, he realized he had nothing to lose: James had seen him at his worst, at his weakest; he had stood by Albusâs side in support, and saved his life when Albus had no strength left to save himself.
âI donât know how to go on,â he finally whispered, looking away. âI donât even know if I want to, let alone if I can.â He heard James take a deep breath and turned back to him, expecting to find his older brother shaking his head again, laughing, or embarrassed with the awkwardness of the exchange. Instead, James took his hand and squeezed it with compassion and sympathy, and Albus knew that he was right to trust him with his deepest fear.
âI canât imagine what you must feel, Al,â James said softly. âI think Iâd want to die too if I lost Sarah.â
âWhy didnât you tell Dad?â asked Albus.
James shrugged. âHe doesnât need to know. I donât know how heâd react.â
âHeâd be furious,â Albus replied with a bitter laugh. âBut then, Iâm already a failure so it hardly matters.â
âThatâs not what I meant,â James frowned. âHeâs used it too, you knowâ”he might understand. I just donât know how heâd feel if he knew we had it. He might be tempted to use it again.â
Albus thought about it: would his father be able to resist the Stone if it came to him a second time? He was tempted to ask James where it was, but once again decided it would be easier to just not care: if he caredâ”if he knewâ”he might only get hurt again.
With that thought, a wave of pain washed over him and he curled in upon himself. He suddenly needed to be alone. James seemed to understand, and stood up to leave. He looked desperately sad, and Albus felt overwhelmed once more with guilt and shame that he should be the cause of it.
James put his hand on his shoulder. âLook, I know you miss him, and you donât know what to do now. But I have an idea, something that might help. Once youâre a bit stronger, Iâll show you. First, though, you have to get your strength back.â
Albus nodded, though he didnât believe there was anything James could do or say to make the journey forward any easier. A hint of skepticism must have shown on his face, because James smiled. âDonât worry, Alâ”it was Marcumâs idea.â
Albus closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever be free of his partnerâs ghost.
* * *
A week had passed and the Healers had finally decided Albus could go home; but his parents insisted that he stay with them rather than return to the flat in London on his own. They cleaned out his old room and brought over everything he would need to stay several weeksâ”âAt least through the holidays,â his mother had said. Albus did not mind at all; he recognized his precarious mental state and decided he would let them do whatever they wanted to do. He had expended too much energy searching for the Hallows to really care about making decisions for himself at the moment anyway.
At first he had done nothing but sleep; gradually he began to venture downstairs for meals, though he did not really feel like eating. James had moved out long ago, but he came to dinner every night after Quidditch practice, and Albus slowly began to join in the conversation. Lily invited Rose over, and soon others were coming by as well: Teddy Lupin, then Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron. Everyone tried to act normal, but Albus knew that what had happened in the cemetery was on everyoneâs mind, and he felt the strain even among his own family.
He often retreated to his fatherâs study in order to get away from it all. He sat in an old chair, staring out the window into the yard where he had spent many happy years running under an enchanted Muggle sprinkler during the summer, laying under the stars at night, playing Quidditch with his cousins. Memories came flooding back, from his childhood, from Hogwarts, from his short time with Marcum: memories of his past life. What would this new life hold, this life without the one person he had hoped to spend it with? Would he make new memories as dear?
He didnât really care; whatever happened now, happened.
As he contemplated an empty and unhappy future, he heard a knock on the door. With a sigh he opened it to find his brother standing there, dressed to go out. âAre you ready?â he asked.
âFor what?â Albus asked. Normally he would have been annoyed that someone had planned something without asking him, and just assumed he would go; but as he had nothing to do and no desire to do anything, that reaction barely registered. He threw on the cloak James offered, feeling uncharacteristically compliant and not really caring.
âSide-along Apparation. Weâre going to the Ministry of Magic.â
âItâs almost closing time, James. And mum will be making dinner soon.â He might not care about much else, but at least he knew when to eat and sleep.
James rolled his eyes and took out a sandwich from his robes for his brother. âI knew youâd say that. Eat as we Apparate, then. I told mum and dad we were going out. We have an after-hours appointment.â
âWith who?â asked Al, taking the sandwich and stuffing it into a pocket. âAnd how about something to drink?â He briefly wondered why they were going to the Ministry after hours, but did not particularly feel like asking about it. If he needed his wand, he didnât care. It was tucked away in his room: he did not trust himself to use it anymore after he had hurt so many people with it.
âYouâll find out when we get there,â James replied, taking his arm. âHold on.â
Albus felt a deep wrench as he dissolved and careened through space. They materialized not in the Atrium but in a plain, bare corridor Albus had never been in before.
âWelcome to the Department of Mysteries,â said a voice behind them.
* * *
End Notes:
One more I would like to thank my lovely beta, laceymoibella, for reading this chapter and offering such reassuring comments. I must admit this was not quite the chapter I had intended, but I felt that Albus needed a break, and that the reader needed to know more about his mental state before moving on to the Department of Mysteries.
Chapter Five - Possibilities by Gmariam
Chapter Five â“ Possibilities
Albus turned around and was slightly surprised to see Sarah Holmes, Jamesâs fiancĂ©e, standing behind him. He knew she was an Unspeakable, but had certainly not expected to Apparate directly to her department and find her waiting for them. Seeing her caused a slight pang as he thought about his brotherâs wedding in the spring; he felt guilty for resenting their happiness, though he loved her like a sister already.
Standing beside her was a short man who looked familiar. He was ancient: his white hair and beard were cut short, but his face was lined with wrinkles and he came toward them with a slow step, slightly stooped. His blue eyes twinkled with intelligence and wit, however, as Albus struggled to place him.
âHi, Albus,â said Sarah, her blond hair pulled back into a long braid. When she smiled at him, Albus was immediately reminded of how much he liked her: she radiated compassion, setting everyone she met at ease with her warm brown eyes and honest face. She greeted him with an affectionate hug, and Albus couldnât help but grin when his brother held up his hands, looking for his own embrace.
âHi, James,â she added, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to the man beside her. âThis is Aldred Dumbledore, our Chief Unspeakable. Heâll be helping you tonight, as it is quite out of my authorization to even talk about where you are going.â
âDumbledore!â Albus exclaimed, and James looked equally surprised and impressed. That was why the man had looked so familiar: Albus Dumbledore had died long before he had been born, but Albus had seen enough portraits to recognize the resemblance to the late Headmaster of Hogwarts. âI was named for a Dumbledore.â
âI know,â replied the Unspeakable, offering his hand. Albus took it and found the older manâs grip to still be strong. âYou were named for my cousin â“ a great honor for him, to be sure.â
âAldred is actually my. . . â Sarah ticked off numbers on her fingers, â. . . great, great, great, great uncle. Heâs doing me a big favor by taking you in.â She seemed slightly uncomfortable, but her uncle patted her arm and smiled.
âIâm happy to help, dear,â he said, taking Jamesâs hand. âWeâve let very few people into the Realm from outside the department, actually. Itâs still unpredictable, even though weâve been working on it for over ten years. Not everyone can handle what they find. Yet I understand from Sarah that this is exactly the sort of thing we should use it for.â He looked pointedly at Albus, who swallowed nervously.
âI donât understand,â he said, glancing between the three of them. âWhy did we Apparate directly here? Why not use the main entrance? And whatâs the Realm?â
âThere have been a few break-ins over the last several weeks,â answered Sarah, glancing sideways at the older man; Albus sensed she was definitely not telling them everything. âAnd access to the Department of Mysteries in particular has been strictly limited to Ministry personnel only. As for the Realmâ”Iâll let Aldred explain that.â
Aldred Dumbledore continued with a gracious nod to his niece. âThe Realm of Possibility was discovered not long after your father wreaked a bit of havoc in the Hall of Prophecy â“ which, by the way, I was in charge of for a good many years. Not that I minded, of course,â he added, no doubt noticing the look of chagrin on Albusâs face. âYour father did what he had to do. But a large number of prophecies were destroyed, and as the years went by, less and less were made. So we began to focus our research on other methods of predicting the future.â
âThe future.â Albus heard the deadness in his voice. He suddenly understood why he was there, and felt angry and betrayed. âI donât need to see my future, I donât want to see my future!â He whirled on James. âIs that why you brought me here? To show me what my life is going to be like without Marcum?â
James looked both embarrassed and frightened of his brotherâs reaction. âI told you, Al â“ it was Marcumâs idea. âShow him what to live forâ he said. And heâs right â“ youâve done nothing since you came home, itâs like you donât care about anything anymore. Maybe this will helpâ”â
âMaybe I donât want help,â Albus snapped.
âAl,â Sarah said softly. âPlease listen. Youâre being offered an amazing gift.â
Albus whirled on her. âThen Iâm returning it. Iâm not interested.â
Dumbledore coughed, breaking the tension. âSheâs quite right, but first let me continue and see if I canât change your mind. The Realm of Possibilities is exactly that: a place where you can see the possibilities of your future. It is obviously impossible to reliably predict what will happen at tomorrowâs staff meeting let alone next yearâs Quidditch final, but the Realm of Possibilities narrows down what may or may not happen to you and you alone: no one can enter the Realm to see someone elseâs future possibilities. Only you may cast the spell and receive a glimpse of what may happenâ”should you choose that path.â
The Ravenclaw in him was curious: how did such a spell work? And what would he see? Would he see something beside the empty future he felt now? What if he did? Would he betray Marcumâs memory by living out his future in happiness?
As if reading his mind, Dumbledore offered softly, âDo not let fear hold you back, for you are ultimately in control of your destiny. And do not let the dead hold you back either, for they are not.â
Albus turned away and blew out a long breath. He was reluctant to admit it, but he wanted to go. Perhaps there was something in his future worth living for. Anything would be better than the dull existence he had endured since he had returned home. A small part of him wondered if there might be a future where he would be reunited with Marcum after all.
With a curt nod, Albus agreed to go. Aldred Dumbledore smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. âGood for you, my boy,â he said. âYou have already taken the first step. Follow me.â
They followed the old man through a large black door into a strange circular room. Albus had heard many stories about the Department of Mysteries, but had never had reason or opportunity to visit the ninth level when he worked at the Ministry. He found himself intrigued by the glossy floor, the twelve dark doors, and the odd blue light coming from the sconces on the wall. He took a breath to settle himself as the floor began to turn; or perhaps they were still and the walls were moving, he was not sure. At last the room stopped revolving and Dumbledore lead them into a large room filled with sparkling light.
âThis is the Time Room,â he said conversationally. âI began my studies here before moving into the Hall of Prophecy.â Albus gazed around in wonder at the myriad of clocks as they slowly made their way down a narrow passageway toward a second door. James seemed equally interested behind him.
âAnd here is where you father found his prophecy,â continued Dumbledore, pushing open a second door and leading them into a cavernous chamber. There were several large shelves to the right, each of which held hundreds of glowing orbs; to the left were row upon row of empty shelves, dark and dusty. âThis is the Hall of Prophecy, although you will see that the number of prophecies is really quite limited now a daysâ”we used to have thousands.â
Albus stopped and stared at the shelves: this was where his father had come to save Sirius Black, believing his godfather had been captured and tortured. This was where he had found the prophecy about Lord Voldemort, where he and his friends had fought the Death Eaters for it â“only to lose it in the end.
âThis is amazing,â James murmured softly beside him. âItâs like walking through a piece of family history.â
The old Unspeakable chuckled and motioned them to continue through a third door. They crossed the threshold and Albus stopped cold, awestruck by the site before him. He was standing upon a tall cliff, gazing out upon a valley teeming with color: verdant green grass, deep blue lakes, crisp white clouds floating across a sunset sparkling with reds, oranges, and gold. It took his breath away, to find such beauty so deep below the Ministry; the rational part of his mind recognized that magic was at work, but his heart responded to the visceral beauty of the scene nonetheless.
âYes, itâs quite remarkable, isnât it?â murmured Aldred Dumbledore, hands folded behind his back as he too gazed at the scene in wonder. âI am struck by the infinite splendor of the universe each time I enter. Now.â He turned to Albus, a serious look on his face. âThe spell is complex and may take several tries; there are Unspeakables who have yet to succeed in casting it. Do you have your wand?â
âI do,â interjected James, taking Albusâs wand from his cloak and handing it to his brother. Dumbledore merely raised his eyebrows and nodded; Albus wasnât sure whether to be grateful the trip wasnât a waste, or irritated that his brother had gone into his room and taken his wand. He idly wondered what had happened to the Elder Wand.
âGood. This room was created with a bit of help from Muggle science. We, of course, did the decorating,â he winked. âWe also created the spell that activates the roomâs powers. The curious thing, however, is that the spell responds differently to each person. I have no idea how the room will present your future, but it will be unique unto you. Just remember that it is safe, and that ultimately your destiny is yours to determine: you are simply being shown some choices.â
âHave you tried it?â Albus asked quietly, still staring around him in amazement.
âNaturally,â Dumbledore replied. âThe spell is mine. Are you ready, then?
Albus nodded; what did he have to lose, if he had already lost hope?
âThen repeat after me, without your wand: Ostende mea fortuna!â
âReveal my destiny,â murmured Albus. He tried it out on his tongue, and felt a strange power coalesce around him with the three simple words, far more than if casting a spell anywhere else.
âGood. You feel the roomâs magic, do you not? And now the wand motion.â Dumbledore demonstrated a complicated twist that ended with his wand pointing straight up into the sky; after several tries, Albus felt he had it well enough to attempt the spell.
âAnd now we must go, as you alone must cast the spell without the interference of others. I wish you luck, Albus Potter, and hope that you discover what you seek.â He bowed and indicated to the others that they needed leave; both James and Sarah seemed reluctant, however.
Albus couldnât help but smile at the worried look on their faces. âIâll be fine,â he reassured them. Sarah hugged him once more, but James only nodded, his face still serious. âIâll be right outside,â he said. âBe careful.â
âI will.â Albus turned back to the spectacular view, feeling oddly free. He heard the door shut behind him and turned to find it had blended into the mountain behind him. He went to the edge of the cliff and looked down; reckless exhilaration filled him, and he sat on the rocks, letting his legs dangle over the edge.
He sensed a great peace here, and wondered what it was about the magic in the room that freed a personâs soul. Albus contemplated not even using the spell he had been given; but the darkness at the edge of his mind lingered, however distant it might be at the moment, and he knew he had to try if he were to be truly free of it. He pulled out his wand and studied it: birch, ten inches, with a single unicorn hair. He almost wished James had left it at home; it had been a good wand, yet now it felt tainted by the things he had done with it.
Albus hesitated; whereas moments before he had been worried that his future might actually show him happiness, now he wondered if the wand were warped, and if it would show him a future too terrible to face.
Or what if it showed him nothing at all?
Calling upon his Gryffindor heritage, Albus stood and raised his wand to the sky. âOstende mea fortuna!â he cried, his heart pounding. He felt the roomâs magic begin to swirl around him, as if an enormous vortex of energy were gathering him in its power. He sensed an immense force behind him, and stood to face his future.
* * *
End Notes:
Thank you once again to my wonderful beta, laceymoibella! And thank you to Karaley Dargen for her help with the spell in the Hospital Wing. The next chapter will be a bit longer, I think: Albus has a lot to see and explore in the Realm of Possibilities before we conclude this tale.
Chapter Six - Journey by Gmariam
Chapter Six â“ Journey
Albus Potter gazed into the deep golden eyes of a pristine unicorn, and for a moment, his heart stopped beating in wonder and terror.
The exquisite creature moved toward him, long legs moving gracefully, flank muscles rippling with strength. The unicornâs coat was glossy white, with a luminous sheen that seemed to move the very air around it when it shook its long mane. A single horn dipped toward Albus in acknowledgment, and when the unicorn raised its head again, Albus felt his heart began to beat once more.
âGreetings, Albus Severus Potter.â The unicornâs mouth did not appear to move, and yet the deep, layered voice was clearly coming from the magical creature in front of him. Albus did not know how to respond and merely nodded; he imagined the look on his face must be one of surprise and shock.
The unicorn tossed back its head and made a sound like a laugh. âIt is okay, young one. I am not here to harm you.â
âYouâre my guide,â said Albus, not sure whether he was asking a question or making a statement.
âI am,â replied the unicorn. âAlthough, if this form makes you uncomfortable, I can take another.â
âYou can?â Albus felt his eyes widen as his Ravenclaw curiosity got the better of him, and he wondered what shape the unicorn might take.
To his continued amazement, the unicorn blurred into the shape of a man: Aldred Dumbledore, the Unspeakable who had brought him there. âOf course, Albus,â it said, speaking with Dumbledoreâs voice. âThis is the Realm of Possibilitiesâ”anything is possible.â
Dumbledore became his cousin, Rose Weasley. âAt least for me, as I have been summoned to lead you on this journey. You will have to maintain your own form, I am afraid.â
Rose morphed into his father, green eyes filled with the same worry and concern that Albus had seen at home. âCome, let us begin, so that we may explore your future paths and put your troubles behind you.â
Albus was stunned silent for a moment as he gazed at his father. Guilt and shame bubbled up within him: guilt for the attack, shame for what he had put his father through. He shook his head and looked away. âNot him. Please.â
His father raised an eyebrow, but nodded in acknowledgment. âOf course. What about this form?â Albus felt his heart stop again as his father slowly became the form of his lost partner, Marcum.
âNo!â he cried and turned his back, even though he desperately wanted to reach out to the figure in front of him. His experience with the Stone, however, had taught him that he could not bring the dead back to life, and he did not want a shape-shifting unicorn taking Marcumâs place.
âI apologize, Albus Potter,â said the voice of the unicorn. Albus turned back and found the golden eyes of the unicorn filled with liquid sympathy. âI did not realize I would cause you such pain, given your strong desire to see him again.â The unicorn lowered its head and touched him with its horn. Albus felt the stinging grief in his body slowly flow away, though a lingering sadness still remained. He nodded in thanks, but did not speak.
âI will remain with this form, then,â continued the creature. âNow, are you ready for this journey?â
Albus closed his eyes; once more he was being asked to choose, and once more he questioned whether or not he was ready. Now that he was literally looking his future in the face, he wondered whether he could accept what he might see, for good or for bad. Memories of the last monthsâ”searching in the forest, the confrontation with his father, his final meeting with Marcum, and the endless days and nights since he had been released from St. Mungoâsâ”spurred him forward, and he made his decision: he would continue.
âYes, I am,â he replied.
âThen walk with me,â the unicorn commanded, and turning, he lead the way toward a path Albus had not noticed before. Of course, he thought. I hadnât cast the spell yet. The unicorn neighed in confirmation.
The path led down the cliffside; it was not steep, but wandered lazily toward an unseen destination. It took several turns and appeared much longer than Albus would have guessed when he had first entered the room. He immediately recognized the symbolism: the future took many twists and turns as the path stretched forward, unseen, before you.
âYou have suffered a terrible loss,â the unicorn said as they walked. âYou have not only lost someone who was very important to you, but a part of yourself as well. You have forgotten your way and do not know how to continue forward.â
Albus frowned, because the unicorn was simply stating the obvious; hearing it out loud did not make it suddenly easier to move on with his life and begin the healing process he knew he needed. His family had said the same thing many times, and yet he had found himself in darker and darker places as he struggled forward.
âDo not get angry, Albus Potter,â said the unicorn, turning its golden eyes on him once more. âI am not here to encourage anger and bitterness, but acceptance and understanding. Closing your mind now will only limit the possibilities we are able to explore.â
âI know,â Albus grumbled, embarrassed at being chastised for his thoughts; he should have realized that they would have been fully available to his guide if the magic in the room were truly able to show him his future.
Albus continued to walk silently next to the unicorn, ashamed and apprehensive and curious all at once. As they came around the first bend in the path, he was surprised to see a clearing to his left where a single house stood: his parentsâ house. It was as if he had walked onto the set of one of the Muggle movies he sometimes watched with his father. It was almost unreal, seeing the house where he grew up on a mountainside deep within the Department of Mysteries.
Unsure what to do, Albus looked to his guide. The unicorn nudged him forward, toward the house, but stayed behind as Albus made his way to the door and entered, uncertain what he might find . . .
âIâm fine, James. Donât worry.â
Albus stood in his room, gazing out the window into the backyard. His back was stiff and his hands were balled into fists at his sides. James sighed as he moved closer.
âI am worried, and so are Mum and Dad. Youâve been home for months, and yet youâve hardly left the house. You need to go out. Letâs go to a Quidditch match, or to the Burrow and pick on Hugo a bitâ”â
âI said no, James,â Albus snapped, rounding on him, his face red with anger. âIâm not interested.â
âYouâre not interested in anything!â James exclaimed. âI thought you might be better after the Department of Mysteries, but nothingâs changed. Youâre still so angry.â
Albus gave him a cold stare. âIâm sorry if that offends you, but I have every right to be angry.â
âArenât you tired of it?â James asked matter-of-factly. âCanât you feel it poisoning you? All you do is snap at usâ”I feel like I hardly know you these days!â
âMaybe you donât,â replied Albus. âPlease leave. I donât need your help again.â
âAlâ”â
âGet out!â shouted Albus, and with a flick of the wand he whipped out of his robes, he sent James through the door and into the hallway, and slammed the door behind him. He did not see the look of anguish on his brotherâs face . . .
Albus left the house and thought about what he had just seen: a future in which he had returned from the Department of Mysteries still unable to deal with his pain and anger. He readily understood how it might happen; he felt the anger close to the surface and carried the same worry of it taking over every day. Having now seen it from afarâ”and having witnessed the pain he caused his brotherâ”he knew he did not want to leave carrying the burden of that anger with him anymore.
âItâs your choice,â the unicorn said. âWould you like to see what else may await you? Simply continue forward if you do not wish to live that life.â
Albus nodded and continued down the path. He was silent as he walked, thinking about what other possibilities his future might hold. The next clearing appeared on their left again and surprised him even more: the dark buildings and shady doorways of Knockturn Alley. He had visited it often enough to recognize the Hagâs Rest. He saw several wizards exit the pub, including himself. He was only a few years older this time . . .
"Back off, Malfoy!" hissed Albus, pushing the man away. "I did what you wanted, now leave me alone."
Scorpius Malfoy raised an elegant eyebrow and smirked. "You think torturing a few Muggles again makes you one of us? Grow up, Potterâ”we need more. I wanted them dead.â
âI canât,â whispered Albus, shaking his head and backing away. There were several wizards behind him who stopped his retreat, laughing. Albus looked frightened and pale in the shadowy light reflecting off the dirty windows of the alley.
âThen you are nothing but a liar and a coward.â Malfoy strode forward until he was face to face with Albus. âYou know what you believe, what you feel: let go of your fear! Once you do, the possibilities are endless! Think what you could do!â
Malfoy trailed one long finger down Albusâs cheek before turning abruptly. âBring him in!â
Two masked wizards appeared, dragging a semi-conscious man between them. One of them grabbed the man roughly by his dark hair, and Albus was not surprised to see it was one of the thugs who had killed Marcum three years ago. He glanced blankly around the circle, until his eyes came to rest on Albus and widened in shock.
âDo it,â murmured Scorpius into his ear. âTake his life. He deserves it. Heâs lived too long as it is.â
Albus drew his wand, but hesitated.
âFor Marcum,â hissed Malfoy. âFor us.â
Albus took a deep breath and raised his wand . . .
Albus didnât stop to see what his future self would do; he feared he would be sick if he did. He remembered too well his trips to Knockturn Alley and how easy it had been to be lured into that life, how hard it had been to turn away. Only the Hallows had saved him, and only by replacing one obsession with another. Having failed to find what he sought with the Resurrection Stone, Albus knew it was possible he might return Knockturn Alley to fill the void. It was not, however, something he wanted, now that he had witnessed how far it might take him.
Grimly determined not to become the person he had just seen, Albus continued down the path without waiting for his guide. He was not surprised when he turned another corner to come upon a third clearing on the right. There was no house he knew, but a small cottage surrounded by a well-kept garden. Two people were walking out toward the front gate: his sister Lily, and an older version of himself . . .
âAl,â said Lily, âI think you should come. Everyone wants to see you. You canât keep saying no every time someone gets married or has a baby. We miss youâ”youâre family. Please come.â
Albus shook his head as he walked her to the end of the sidewalk. His face was several years older and infinitely sadder. âIâm sorry, Lily. I just donât feel up to it. Give Hugo my congratulations. Iâll see the baby another time.â
Lily shook her head and stomped her foot, much as she had when she was younger. âAl, you havenât been to a family party in years! Itâs not the same without you.â
Albus smiled sadly. âI donât see why, since youâve had years to get used to it. Iâm happier here.â
âYou donât look like it,â she stated bluntly. âYou look terrible.â
âItâs my work.â
âItâs depression,â she replied.
With a shrug, Albus just turned and walked away; he had given up arguing with his family years ago. âYou sound like Rose. Tell her I said âHiâ and give the twins a kiss for me.â
He heard Lily sigh as she left the yard and Apparated to the Burrow for yet another Weasley gathering . . .
The vision left Albus saddened: though he recognized the person he had become in the vision, he did not wish to isolate himself from others and become that lonely man living by himself. His family had stood by him for over a year, and he could not let them down now by pushing them away forever.
Was this truly his future? A life of bitterness, of hatred, of loneliness? How could it be that there was nothing to look forward to, no hope? Had he truly become so lost, that he had so little to live for?
A part of him suddenly wanted to outrun the unicorn, leave behind this awful trip into a future full of darkness and depression. Yet abruptly he stopped and whirled on the magical beast, who gazed back at him with placid eyes.
âWhy are you showing me this?â he demanded. âItâs terribleâ”all of it! I donât want to live that lifeâ”Iâd be better off having finished it in the cemetery!â
The unicorn continued walking, pausing only to turn its head and motion him forward. âI am only showing you what is possible, not what will be. You know you carry a great anger within you. It is what shapes you most right now: your anger. Until you accept that anger and understand its source, the path will show you only those futures.â
Albus stopped in his tracks, stunned. What he had felt as guilt and shame was indeed a great anger; yet he was not angry with the killers or with Marcumâ”he was angry with himself. He blamed himself for everything that had happened: for initiating a relationship with Marcum, for walking home that night, for drawing his wand, for failing to protect his partner, and failing to get him to St. Mungoâs fast enough. He was even more angry with himself for all that he had done since. His anger fueled his guilt, and his guilt fueled his shame.
And yet . . . it wasnât his fault that Marcum had died. He had only chosen how to respond to it, and he could change that.
The realization hit him like a spell, and he could only attribute the sudden, clear understanding as a side effect of the room, or perhaps the subtle inspiration of his guide. With this insight came not the flood of relief he would have expected, but a slowly spreading feeling of wholeness. It was as if he had purged the darkest part of himself by accepting the cause of his anger.
âSimple and yet not so simple,â nodded the unicorn. âCome, your heart may lead you down other paths now.â
The unicorn turned and began taking a new path that had mysteriously appeared to the right. Albus shook his head in wonder and followed. He found himself wondering what he might see after such an important shift in thought. He hoped it was something worth living for; yet he already felt so much lighter that whatever he saw, he knew it wouldnât hold him back in the past now.
They passed a large boulder, and Albus stopped to watch a new scene unfold around the corner. He didnât appear much older, for there was a still a lingering sadness in his eyes . . .
Albus walked through the atrium at the Ministry of Magic, his step steady, and his shoulders straight. He stayed focused as he walked, nodding to the various witches and wizards who welcomed him, uncomfortable with their reception even though he was glad to be back. When he came to the guard at the entrance, he smiled and handed over his wand.
âWelcome back, Al,â said the guard. âItâs been a while.â
âIt really has, Jack,â replied Al, gripping hands with him. âAlmost a year. Itâs good to see you. How are things here?â
Jack laughed as he waved Albus through the golden gates. âSame as usual, although the break-ins have started again. You may see extra security around, especially toward closing time.â
Albus nodded. âIâll make sure I clock out on time, then,â he said and continued toward the lifts that would take him to his former office on the third floor. He felt lighter for the friendly exchange and bounced on his heels in anticipation as he waited.
The lift he entered was half full of Aurors, none of whom he recognized. It had been a year, after all, and he would probably meet new faces in his own department as well. He nodded to them as he pressed the button for his floor. A tall, dark-haired man with clear blue eyes smiled in return, and Albus couldnât help but feel a small spark of excitement as their eyes connected . . .
The thought of returning to work was daunting; he had left his job when his obsession with the Resurrection Stone had become all consuming, and he feared what people might say when he came back. He had also worked with Marcum at the Ministry and knew it would be difficult to return alone. Yet this future showed him that it was not only possible, but that he could do it with grace and perhaps find joy in it once again.
He continued walking, his spirits continuing to improve. He stopped abruptly as he turned a corner and came upon a scene that stopped his heart . . .
âDad!â cried a small boy with messy blond hair. He was standing behind a tree at the Burrow with his eyes covered. âCome and find me!â
Albus stood not far away, next to a familiar-looking man with dark hair and clear blue eyes. They were talking with Rose Weasley as the bustle of a Weasley gathering swirled around them. He excused himself from the conversation and set out after the young boy. âHere I come, ready or not!â
âYou too, Dad!â cried the child, and the dark-haired man with blue eyes laughed and joined the hunt with Albus. Together they snuck up on either side of the tree and grabbed the boy in a bear hug, filled with tickles and giggles.
âWe found you!â Albus exclaimed, setting him down. âSee if Uncle Hugo can find you this time.â The boy ran off calling for his uncle, and Albus and his partner returned to their conversation with Rose.
âHeâs doing so well,â observed Rose with a smile. âYou guys are doing a great job.â
âWeâre very lucky,â replied the dark-haired man, putting his arm around Albusâs shoulder. âHeâs just a great kid, plain and simple.â
âI still canât believe he was in a Muggle orphanage,â she continued. âI canât imagine a wizard growing up like that. Iâm so glad Kingsley was able to arrange things for you. You two are perfect dads.â
They watched the young boy chasing his uncle and were happy to agree . . .
It was the last thing he would have expected: a future in which he had not only found love and companionship, but a family as well. Albus had never even considered the idea of becoming a parent; it was both shocking and terrifying. Yet the young boy from his vision instantly grabbed his heart, and Albus knew deep down it was rightâ”it was his future. He could do it, he could be a father, and he would do so with the dark-haired man whose blue eyes were clear, so unlike Marcumâs deep brown ones.
The unicorn neighed and shook his mane, as if it felt Albusâs growing joy at the possibilities his future might bring. A growing confidence filled him, though even as he recognized his burgeoning hope, he felt a touch of guilt for betraying the memory of Marcum. Was it right for him to move on, to live a life full of love and happiness without the man he thought he would be spending it with? How could he replace Marcum and move on with someone else? Could he live with himself if he did?
As he doubted himself, the path turned left and opened onto a field. It was the field where Marcum was buried, and a large gathering of mostly red-haired figures were huddled together under the oak tree. Albus looked curiously to the unicorn, who nudged him forward.
As Albus neared his family, he saw a second grave next to Marcumâs. They were not much older than they were when he had begun his journey, and an air of sorrow surrounded the sad group. His mother laid a white lily upon the new grave before turning to his fatherâs embrace. Albusâs heart stopped in his throat and he stumbled slightly; he knew who lay there next to Marcum and could not go any closer.
âWhat happened?â he demanded of the unicorn. âI just saw a future where I returned to work, met someone, had children. How is that possible if I die so soon?â He was shaking; he did not want to die, to cause his family the pain and heartache he was now witnessing. He turned his back on the scene, refusing to watch his own funeral.
The unicorn touched him with its horn, and once again Albus felt its calming affect. They moved away from the scene, and the unicorn spoke. âYour uncertainty revealed another path to explore. You need not see it through; you control your thoughts, and your thoughts control your destiny. Cast out your doubts, and you cast away the possibility of that particular life.â
Albus nodded. It made sense, and yet it was so hard: he clung to those doubts as if clinging to a lifeboat in a sea of uncertainty. He hesitated because he did not want to forget Marcum; his guilt kept him tethered to memories of the past he did not want to dishonor or lose to a new life.
What had seemed so simple just moments ago was once again far more complicated. Albus sighed, his blossoming hope clouded by endless emotions he could not sort or settle. He began to fear his trip to the Realm of Possibility had been for naught.
âI do not believe it was for nothing,â the unicorn said, reading his thoughts. âYou have seen a future you do not wish you live, as well as one you can. You leave the Realm with the knowledge of how your choices and actions will affect the course of your life.â
âLeave?â asked Albus, confused. He glanced around and saw that somehow they had made their way back to the top of the cliff from which they had begun their journey. He had not felt any uphill ascent, and knew the magic of the room must be at work once more. As he glanced out at the magnificent view one last time, he saw stars dotting the dark sky. Behind him, the cliff wall shimmered to reveal the doors leading to the Department of Mysteries, as well as whatever future his choices would bring.
âOur time is over, Albus Potter. I have enjoyed traveling with you. I believe your future is in good hands.â The unicorn bent one knee to him, and Albus nodded his head in wordless thanks. He did not feel the creatureâs confidence, but would not betray his disappointment in a more concrete resolution to his troubles. He turned to leave, his steps reluctant.
âYou will find your way,â the unicorn said softly. âThe path is before you, you have but to follow your heart.â
Albus felt a crooked smile on his lips as he passed through the doors. It sounded so cliché, yet he recognized a great truth in what the unicorn said. Indeed, he felt a certain freedom with the words: perhaps he should follow his heart, his feelings, his instinct. He did not need to think and analyze every decision he made to see where it would take him; perhaps he should have faith that it would lead him where he was meant to go, because the more he thought about things, the more confusing they became.
As the doors shut behind him, Albus placed a hand on them and said a silent thank-you. He turned and was surprised to see that he was not in the Time Room, where he had entered the Realm, but rather in a long corridor, dark and silent. He expected it was another part of the magic of the room, that the entrance was the exit as well, and set off down the corridor in search of James, Sarah, or Aldred Dumbledore.
He found them in a room full of brains, deep in a discussion that stopped abruptly when he entered.
âAl!â exclaimed Sarah, turning with a smile on her face. âThat was quick. Is everything okay?â
Albus felt as if he had been gone for hours, and looked quizzically at Aldred Dumbledore. The Unspeakable smiled and nodded.
âYou feel as if youâve been gone far longer than you really have?â When Albus nodded, he continued. âYes, it is the magic of the room. It has been less than an hour since we left you, though you might feel otherwise.â
Albus just nodded silently once more as he glanced around the strange room, his mind full.
James came up and touched his shoulder. âYou okay?â he asked, his eyes full of concern.
âIâm okay,â Albus replied. âWhatâs this place?â
âIt is the Brain Room,â answered Dumbledore. âI believe your uncle had a bit of an adventure here.â
âThis is where Uncle Ron was attacked by thoughts,â James said, looking around in wonder. âMore family history.â
Albus turned and gazed directly at his brother when he heard the word âfamily.â Something clicked: he wanted to go home, he wanted to apologize and be with them and move on. He did not want to hurt them anymore, whether with his anger or his sadness. âIâm ready to go,â he said, and he heard the resolution in his voice.
James smiled and clapped him on the back. Albus was surprised to see the depth of emotion in his eyes. âGreat. Letâs go.â
Dumbledore led them back into the corridor. âI sense the Realm showed you a great many things,â he offered as they made their way back to the entrance. âI hope that whatever you saw has helped you on your way.â
They came to a grey door and stopped. Albus took Dumbledoreâs hand and shook it warmly. âIt has indeed. Thank you very much. Youâve helped me in more ways than you could know.â
Dumbledore smiled, his eyes warm with understanding. âI am glad, then. Be safe, and be well.â He shook hands with James, nodded to Sarah, and left them alone.
Sarah threw her arms around Albus, hugging him tightly. âIâm so happy for you, Al,â she whispered. âThank you for coming, it means a lot to James.â
âThank you,â he whispered back, kissing her on the cheek. âI know you took a risk to bring me here, and I appreciate what youâve done for me and my family.â
She nodded, eyes bright. Giving James a quick kiss on the cheek, she indicated the door in front of them. âThis will take you back to the entrance room. Simply tell the room you wish to leave, and the door to the exit will open. You can Apparate home directly from there.â
James nodded. âThank you,â he said and opened the door. The room was dark, lit only by the same blue light Albus remembered from when they had arrived.
âOh, and rememberâ”weâve had some break-ins,â she warned. âDonât go exploring, and donât leave by the Atrium. Iâd hate to have you picked up for trespassing after-hours and have to explain that to the Aurors on duty tonight.â
âWeâll be okay,â James said. âSee you tomorrow.â He motioned Albus into the entrance room. The door immediately shut behind them, and the room began to spin. Albus tried to concentrate on the exit, willing the room to show him the correct door.
When the room stopped, he placed his hand on the door to his right, but hesitated. Something pulled at him, a whispering in the back of his mind that he hadnât heard when they had first arrived. He glanced at James, who simply shrugged, as mystified as he was by the Department of Mysteries.
He pushed open the door to the left instead, not thinking, just following his heart.
He was looking down into a cavernous chamber. It was lined with stone benches that wound their way around the rectangular space. The room was dark except for a dim light shining on a dais set at the bottom of the benches. There was large stone archway on the dais, with a tattered black curtain fluttering oddly in the cold, still air.
The whispering grew louder.
Albus stepped out onto the topmost bench, a feeling of nervous wonder stopping his breath. James stood beside him, and Albus could feel his brotherâs fear and uncertainty.
âThis is where Sirius Black died,â murmured James. âWe shouldnât be here. Letâs go.â He turned to go back into the revolving room, but Albus did not follow.
âWait,â said Albus, still staring downward. âCanât you hear them? Thereâs no one here, but they are whispering . . .â He let his voice trail off as he began to work his way down toward the dais. James grabbed at his arm, his eyes wide.
âAl! There are no voices. This isnât safeâ”the Ministry doesnât know weâre here, they might think weâre breaking in! Letâs go,â he repeated. His voice was strained, and Albus frowned.
âYou donât hear them? Iâm sure they are coming from that archway. Come on.â He shook off his brother and continued down the steps. He sensed James behind him, following reluctantly. When he came to the dais, he stopped and stared. The black curtain was mesmerizing, and the whispering grew more intense.
With slow steps, he made his way up the dais toward the archway. James stayed behind, as if guarding his brotherâs private moment. The archway was large and crumbling, and a deep sense of otherworldly magic emanated from the stones themselves. Almost reverently Albus touched the cold rock, spellbound by the whispering that fluttered around him.
âItâs the veil,â he breathed. âThe veil between life and death.â
The spell was abruptly broken by a loud shout from the top of the room. Albus turned at the harsh sound behind him, momentarily confused. A wizard from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stood at the top of the stone steps, his wand drawn as he slowly made his way down.
âBack away from there,â barked the wizard on the steps. Albus looked at James, who gave him a small nod. Albus sighed and turned back to the archway, a sudden longing to step through the veil and join Marcum filling his heart.
âI said, move it!â shouted the wizard, who was now at the bottom of the dais with his wand pointing straight at Albus.
Albus glared at him and snapped, âWhen Iâm ready, git!â He put his hands in his pockets, thinking about drawing his wand; the wizard accosting them shouted again.
âEverything okay in there?â asked a second Auror from the top of the stairs. He had dark hair and clear blue eyes.
James would remember what happened next for the rest of his life: Albus turned, another hot retort on his tongue, but gasped when he saw the second Auror and pointed. The wizard accosting them slashed through the air, no doubt thinking Albus was about to attack, and sent a stream of red light at Albus.
Albus was Stunned on the shoulder and should have fallen to the floor unconscious, but as he fell his body twisted, and his arm slipped through the veil.
âNO!â screamed James as he raced toward his brother. It was as if Albus were falling in slow motion: his arm crossed the invisible barrier between life and death, and his body followed, until he had disappeared through the veil.
Gone forever.
* * *
End Notes:
What can I say? This is where the story has led me from the beginning, it just took me a bit longer to get there. Many thanks to my alpha reader laceymoibella, who encouraged me to continue and made many wonderful points. This story will conclude in the next chapter. My thanks for reading and reviewing.
Epilogue
Gone forever.
âYou bastard!â James shouted as he lashed out at the wizard who had just killed his brother. With a vicious snarl, he hurled a jet of purple light at him, followed closely by a Blasting Curse that sent the man flying backwards to land limply upon the steps. The second Auror raced down to help, raising his wand at James. James brandished his own wand to cast another curse, but a familiar voice on the air stopped him.
âItâs okay, James.â
The dark-haired wizard tending his injured colleague looked around in surprise. James ignored him and ran over to the archway. He laid his hands on it, listening desperately for the voice again, but there was only devastating silence. He leaned his forehead against the cold stone, his breathing ragged as he felt the terrible sobs building in his chest.
âNo, no, no . . .â he whispered. âNot now, not after all this.â
His hand came to a rest on a small bump in the rock and from there fell to the pocket where he still kept the Resurrection Stone, even after so many months. Without even thinking, he took it out and turned it three times. It should work: he knew he didn't need the other Hallows, and perhaps being so close to the veil itself would truly bring Albus back.
A breeze fluttered through the curtain, and James stepped back, expecting his brother to come through, alive and smiling. Instead, he sensed something behind him and turned to find a ghostly light coalescing into a human form.
Marcum.
âWhat are you doing here?â he asked, confused. âYouâre not Albus, I didnât call you. . .â He trailed off as Marcum nodded in understanding.
âI know,â he said, âbut Albus just crossed over, James. Heâs with someone else at the moment. Iâm sure he wants to say goodbye, though.â
âGoodbye?â said James. âWhat do you mean âgoodbyeâ? I turned the Stone, heâs supposed to come back!â
Marcum gazed at him with both pity and understanding. âJames, didnât you tell Albus the same thing about me? That he couldnât bring me back, that he had to move on? You know he wouldnât want this kind of existence,â he continued, gesturing at his ethereal form. âDonât force him to live this way. Let him go when itâs time.â
âNo,â murmured James, dashing tears from his eyes. âThis is different. He wasnât supposed to die, not now!â
âNeither was I,â Marcum reminded him.
âNor was I,â added an unfamiliar voice.
A second man materialized next to Marcum, a man who looked remarkably familiar to James: he had messy black hair and glasses like his fatherâs. For a moment James felt a surge of panic: he thought perhaps his father had died while they were gone. He quickly realized it was his namesakeâ”his grandfather, who had been killed long before he was even born.
âHello, James,â said his grandfather, smiling sadly. âItâs nice to actually meet you. Youâve done our name proud.â
James just nodded, speechless. It was like a family reunion, and yet the one family member he most wanted to see had not appeared yet.
âAlbus is with your grandmother right now, James,â said his grandfather. âYou shouldnât have called for him so soon. Heâs just passed through the veil and really shouldnât return.â
âItâs okay, grandfather,â said a third voice, and James felt his heart stop as Albus finally appeared. He was more than a ghost, but not flesh and blood. âReally, itâs okay. I understandâ”I used it too, you know.â
âItâs not okay!â James shouted. âThis wasnât supposed to happen! You were supposed to come here and find something to live forâ”you were supposed to see your future, not your death!â
âBut this is my future, and I did see it,â Albus said softly. âI just didnât think it would happen so soon, or in such a . . . peacefully ironic manner.â
âPeacefully ironic?â asked James. âWhat the hell does that mean? What did you see? You never even had a chance to tell me.â Perhaps if he had known what might happen, it would be easier to believe that Albus had fallen. Perhaps he would not be so shocked, so stunned.
Albus nodded. âI know, and Iâm sorry. It just happened so fast. I saw so much, James, it was amazing. I saw myself a lonely man, an angry man, a cruel man. I also saw myself happy, back at work, and a father. And I saw my funeral, though I didnât see how it happened.â
âYou didnât see. . . this?â James asked, motioning at the stone archway. He was desperate for answers. He could not accept that Albus was dead, not when he was standing right there in front of him, talking and smiling.
âNot exactly,â said Albus. âIf I had, maybe I would have done things differently. Maybe I would have chosen the other door. This is just the way itâs meant to be. Itâs okay,â he repeated.
It was not okay, and it never would be. James had not spent long hours searching for the Stone, and longer hours by Albusâs bedside, to lose him now. He could not stand the idea of losing a brotherâ”he would not. He did not have to accept it, for he had the ability to change things.
Albus frowned as if he were reading Jamesâs mind. âPlease donât keep me here, James,â he said softly. âI have to goâ”I have no choice.â
âYou want to go, youâve wanted to go ever since Marcum died!â James shouted. âHow could you leave us, after all weâve been through? How could you choose death over lifeâ”him over us?â And there it was: the anger of loss, bursting forth from a place James didnât even know existed. In one blazing instant, he understood everything his brother had gone through after Marcumâs death.
âYouâre right,â Albus replied, his voice slightly unsteady. âI did want to die, but you saved me. You showed me that was wrong. You brought me here and showed me a future I could live for.â
âThen live, dammit!â James cried. He stopped and stared longingly at his brother, reaching out to him; his hands passed through empty space. âPlease.â
Albus glanced at his grandfather for support, his eyes full of sorrow. He took a deep breath. âI canât,â he whispered. âIâm sorry.â
James turned away, his chest heaving with both grief and anger. At the top of the room he saw the door open, and Sarah came through, followed closely by Aldred Dumbledore. Though he alone had turned the stone, they could clearly see the ghostly forms standing before him: he heard Sarah gasp when she saw the scene on the dais, and she flew down the stairs before Dumbledore could stop her.
She took him in her arms. He could have never imagined that losing someone would cause such physical pain, but it twisted his insides until he thought he would collapse from it. He clung to her as his only support, the only thing that kept him from falling to the ground. When he finally turned around, both his grandfather and Marcum had gone.
âHi Sarah,â said Albus softly. âTake care of him, okay?â She just nodded, tears streaming down her face. âItâs time, James. You have to let me go.â
âI canât,â he whispered. âMum and Dad will be devastated. And Lilyâ”â he choked back the words, unable to even contemplate how hard it would be to tell his family that Albus was gone.
âI know,â Albus replied, his voice breaking this time. âIâll miss them, too. Tell them Iâm sorry.â
âAlbus, Iâ”â James started. He wanted to say so much, but his brother stopped him.
âI know.â
James could only nod, his throat tight, his eyes stinging. Beside him Sarah looked away and stifled her own sobs. Albus smiled and slowly began to fade away. They heard his voice in the air one last time. âThanks, James. I love you.â
A gentle breeze flowed around him, warm and peaceful and filled with love. Somehow James knew it was his brother, sending one last hug before passing through the veil once more. He embraced Sarah before finally turning to leave the archway behind him.
At the top of the stairs, Aldred Dumbledore was talking quietly to the two wizards who had accosted them. The dark-haired man was supporting the wizard James had cursed. He turned to look at James, blue eyes full of sympathy, and gave him small nod of acknowledgement before leading his injured comrade out the door. Dumbledore walked slowly down the stairs, meeting them at the foot of the dais.
âIâm so sorry,â he murmured. âAlan tells me something both tragic and remarkable happened here tonight.â
James held back a hot retort; the death of his brother did not seem remarkable at all. It was bitter loss he would carry with him the rest of his life. And because he had brought Albus to the Department of Mysteries, he felt the added burden of guilt settle heavily upon his shoulders.
Once more he was tempted to turn the Stone, to beg his brotherâs forgiveness; yet he knew it was wrong and realized that bearing the Hallow was now an even greater burden than the guilt he felt for his brotherâs death. He understood why his father had never gone back for the lost ring; he wished he had never entered the Forbidden Forest and found it. Before he could regret it, he took the Resurrection Stone from his pocket and tossed it to Aldred Dumbledore.
âHere, study this,â he said, not bothering to keep the bitterness from his voice. âItâs better off here. Some people think itâs just a myth, but itâs worked for my entire family.â
Dumbledore turned it around in his hand, a puzzled look on his ancient face. James walked past him without another word and began the long climb up the stairs to the room that would take him back to the exit, to a vastly different life with a family that was now broken. He did not look back, determined to make it to the top before breaking down.
As he entered the blue room, he thought he heard one last whisper behind him. The door shut, and he placed his hand against it with a deep sigh. âGood-bye, Al.â His hand fell down to his pocket again, subconsciously looking for the Stone he had just given up.
To his surprise, it had somehow made its way back to his pocket. He did not know whether Dumbledore had sent it back, or whether the Stone had appeared on its own; he even wondered if perhaps Albus had reached out from beyond the veil to return it to him. As the temptation to turn the Stone yet again overtook him, he sank to the floor. Sarah took him in her arms once more, and he sobbed silently until he had no tears left.
James had lost his brother and was left with his grief, his guilt, and the temptation of the Hallows; he could only hope that Albus had found what he was looking for on the other side of the veil and was no longer lost.
End Notes:
And so the story ends. It may not have been what you were expecting or hoping for, but Albus was never going to return, and James now carries a difficult burden. His future looks rather bleak as well, if the current outline for my next story holds. Poor James and Albus.
Thank you so much to laceymoibella for all her hard work and support through this long process. I couldnât have finished it without you! And thank you to everyone else for reading this story. I have worked hard on it and would appreciate any thoughts you might have. And I hope you might read my other stories as well. Aldred Dumbledore appears in a few, and you can read a bit of Albusâs backstory in âGood Night, Albus.â Thank you!
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.