Chapter 4 – 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, “Something to drink, please.”
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. Mungo’s. Yes, he had failed—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.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” 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. “It’s good to see you again.”
Albus didn’t know what to say: was he glad to be alive? Or did he still want to be with Marcum? He couldn’t 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. “Get some rest, now, dear. You’ve been fighting a nasty potion these past few days.”
Albus opened his eyes in shock—days? “What happened?” 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. Mungo’s.
“You took a Death Draught,” 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. “We thought we’d lost you. James found you at the cemetery and brought you here only just in time for the Healers to begin treating you—and even then it’s been hard.” 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. “That was quite a potion you brewed, dear—fevers, chills, delirium. There were many moments when we didn’t think you’d make it.” 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 hadn’t slept for days.
Because of him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, as the full realization of his selfishness the past year came crashing upon him and filled him with shame. “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, Albus,” 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. “Don’t be sorry. We’re the ones who should be apologizing to you. We’re sorry we didn’t see it, that we couldn’t stop the pain, that we couldn’t help you—“
“You tried,” Albus said, pulling away and looking at them. “You tried so hard, and I failed you. All I could think about was Marcum, and his murderers, and the Resurrection Stone. . . ” 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.
“It’s okay,” his mother said, patting his arm. “We’re here for you now and we will do whatever you need us to do.”
Albus simply nodded; there was nothing he really wanted anymore. “Can I talk to James for a moment?” he asked. “Privately?”
“Of course,” 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 didn’t know how to start sorting them out. They were silent until they both began speaking at once.
“Thank you—“
“I didn’t te–“
“I know,” Albus said. “Thank you for not telling them everything. But even more importantly, thank you for saving my life.” He tried not to sound as dull and bitter as he felt.
James let out a breath and grinned. “Damn, you scared us, Al.” He came and sat at the foot of the bed, shaking his head. “Please don’t ever do that that again.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Albus leaned back against his pillow, exhausted. “Marcum didn’t want me to, anyway—I don’t think he’s ready for me to join him yet.”
“Smart bloke, Marcum,” replied James. He fiddled with the blankets at the foot of them bed. “So why did you do it?” he finally asked, gazing directly at his younger brother.
“I just couldn’t. . . ” 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 brother—or himself—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 Albus’s side in support, and saved his life when Albus had no strength left to save himself.
“I don’t know how to go on,” he finally whispered, looking away. “I don’t even know if I want to, let alone if I can.” 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.
“I can’t imagine what you must feel, Al,” James said softly. “I think I’d want to die too if I lost Sarah.”
“Why didn’t you tell Dad?” asked Albus.
James shrugged. “He doesn’t need to know. I don’t know how he’d react.”
“He’d be furious,” Albus replied with a bitter laugh. “But then, I’m already a failure so it hardly matters.”
“That’s not what I meant,” James frowned. “He’s used it too, you know—he might understand. I just don’t know how he’d feel if he knew we had it. He might be tempted to use it again.”
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 cared—if he knew—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. “Look, I know you miss him, and you don’t know what to do now. But I have an idea, something that might help. Once you’re a bit stronger, I’ll show you. First, though, you have to get your strength back.”
Albus nodded, though he didn’t 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. “Don’t worry, Al—it was Marcum’s idea.”
Albus closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever be free of his partner’s 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 weeks—“At least through the holidays,” 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 everyone’s mind, and he felt the strain even among his own family.
He often retreated to his father’s 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 didn’t 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. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“For what?” 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.
“Side-along Apparation. We’re going to the Ministry of Magic.”
“It’s almost closing time, James. And mum will be making dinner soon.” 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. “I knew you’d say that. Eat as we Apparate, then. I told mum and dad we were going out. We have an after-hours appointment.”
“With who?” asked Al, taking the sandwich and stuffing it into a pocket. “And how about something to drink?” 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 didn’t 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.
“You’ll find out when we get there,” James replied, taking his arm. “Hold on.”
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.
“Welcome to the Department of Mysteries,” said a voice behind them.
* * *
Lost by Gmariam
Chapter Endnotes: 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.