Minnie
Dear Albus,
The usual beginning of a letter. Except for important or urgent letters. Letters like that just begin, no "dear"s, no time for that. Trust me, I would know. I have only received a letter like that once, but that is more that enough times. I remember, I was sitting in the Great Hall. It was my fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was expecting my daily letters from home, usually flown in by our family owl, Peaches. Instead, a letter from the Ministry came in.
Minerva McGonagall is now formally addressed this letter from the Ministry of Magic. We inform with great sorrow that Marlin Gregory McGonagall, age 10, has been killed on a street by criminal Bellatrix Lestrange. Ministry inspectors are now detecting exactly why this boy was killed. We will inform you if any clues are detected.
Marley--my Marley! He was gone. Finished off. His decade of living and his enerjetic body was wiped out--snuffed out...gone. Marley, my ten-year-old brother Marley, was dead. Murdered by that fraud, that stupid, stupid woman, Bellatrix Lestrange.
When I cried, I didn't even notice the other Gryffindors crowding around me. They did not matter, there was only one person that mattered--and that was Marley. I sobbed silently, not believing what had happened, and yet I had to. The only thing that I did notice around me was something that I barely, faintly noticed.
Albus.
He was sitting next to me when it happened. He had his arm around me. He was crying, too. He had never known Marley.
He was crying for me.
The other Gryffindors were trying to comfort me, but only Albus knew that it was no use. Kendra and Ariana hadn't died yet, but he knew, he knew that at a time like this, you just had to cry. And not believe until you knew you had to. I couldn't see him because my head was in my hands, and all I could see was blank darkness ahead of me. I was walking through it--and I wanted to walk toward the distant light in the distance, wanted to die and see my dear Marley, and the only thing that brought me back was Albus, sitting with his arm around me, crying because I was crying. Because he loved me, and I loved him. We were best friends.
They never did find out exactly why Marley was killed.
But I did.
Voldemort--Voldemort and his hideous, treacherous, merciless Death Eaters, including that madwomen Lestrange, had known that Albus loved me (as a friend, of course). They had connected the dots to Marley, killing him, and hoping that would weaken me, which would weaken Albus.
And it did.
But not enough.
But this story is not about me. It's about Albus Dumbledore, and Albus Dumbledore's life...his life that included me.