Chapter Text
Sometimes, the simple things can carry the most destruction.
For Albus it had been the owl that had arrived just as he and Elphias had been ready to leave the Leaky Cauldron, catching their portkey to Greece, off to explore Europe, adventure and magic.
Albus had known the moment he saw the owl, the letter it carried wrinkled and sloppy, that something was wrong. He had stared at the owl, not wanting to accept the letter, not wanting to know, until it had grown impatient and he accepted his doom with shaking hands he could barely conceal.
He had read but not seen, his brother’s handwriting almost incomprehensible. The fact that Aberforth had been shaking, crying probably, when he wrote had been enough to know. The grief had been bone shattering, Albus’ world crumbling to dust in front of him just as the letter between his fingers did. Albus barely felt the flames, didn’t feel them after the letter had been nothing more than ash.
The feeling of his world sliding through his fingers - unstoppable, somehow his fault - had never left him since. It hadn’t just been his mother that had died, inevitably after so many years, it had been his family too, his future, once glowing so bright.
All Albus saw now when he opened his eyes were the grey bricks that formed the church and the narrow, depressing road that led through Godric’s Hollow.
He felt hollow, drained. There wasn’t much else left in him after the last week, his capacity to feel anything crushed under pressure, Aberforth’s disdain and Ariana’s pain and his own helplessness, the lies he had spun and needed to spin even on the day they buried his mother. He had never wanted this to happen, hadn’t known how to prevent it, no matter how powerful and brilliant the world proclaimed him to be.
“Ariana should be here“, Aberforth hissed next to him, his words cutting through the fresh morning air with the venom his brother couldn't even shake at their mothers’ funeral.
It was a crisp, almost foggy morning, unusual even for British summers, but the slight shock of cold against his skin allowed Albus at least the illusion of pain, grief.
He was tired. They had had this conversation before, Aberforth snarling and shouting and calmly arguing the same words, over and over again as if he could simply make Albus repeat them if only he tried hard enough. It still hurt, through the void that had swallowed him so he could function. He had to keep going, just another day.
“You know why she can't be here”, he replied through gritted teeth, voice lowered.
There were eyes everywhere, watching him, them, hungry for another scandal to deliver final judgement on another Dumbeldore.
Aberforth glared at him, his black clothes making his eyes even darker: “Ariana deserves to be here”.
And you don't. You don't belong here , went unspoken. Not always, but at least today.
It was true, Albus knew, felt it to the tip of his fingers, that he was not meant for life in Godric’s Hollow, or any ordinary life of daily monotony. There were many sacrifices Albus would have made to reverse time, make the impossible possible, bring their mother back and leave.
In this moment, the light of the sun not yet filtering through the clouds, the lines of graves wet from dew, Albus craved the Deathly Hallows more than ever. Power over life and death. Freedom. His chest tightened when he remembered that he was bound, for another year at least, until Aberforth graduated.
“Don’t ignore me”, Aberforth grabbed his shoulders, almost shaking him.
Albus allowed it.
“They are already watching”, he said quietly, calmly, feeling the rumours carrying through the air. The only remotely friendly, sympathetic face was Bathilda Bagshot, but Albus knew that she would share the details about the funeral with anybody who would ask nicely enough.
“I don’t care about that stupid secret. It’s all lies anyways.”
Albus tried, tried to remain calm: “It's what she died for.” He titled his chin towards the coffin, “don’t make it mean nothing”.
Aberforth’s eyes flew towards the coffin, simple, unornamented wood, their mother still and pale inside. He didn't say another word but didn't release Albus’ shoulder either until Albus shook him off.
He breathed in, deeply, trying to ignore the other guests, his brother who had already told him that it was his fault.
“Can I have a moment alone?”
Aberforth scoffed but left.
Albus stared at the coffin, the way the wood was forming rings, its own story of life. The numbness in him slowly turned to sorrow so distant it hurt even more, like an old dream dreamt again. The funeral, surrounded by the cramped houses of Godric’s Hollow, was suffocating him. These wizards, awaiting greatness from him, Ariana who waited at home, half mad with guilt, who needed a family, and him, who simply wanted the glorious future he had dreamt about in his dorm room, adventures and greatness intertwined with brilliance. Kendra wasn't the only one buried today. A part of Albus was with her, in that coffin, suffocating, torn from him, leaving the hollowness that had haunted him ever since he had turned that letter to dust, his magic running havok for the first time in years.
“Goodbye”, he said and wasn't even sure to whom he was talking.