A is For Albus
There are times that I'm not sure I really know who Albus is. What sort of person he is, at his core, what values he holds dear, what ethics he unfailingly abides by. For these things tend to change depending on the circumstance.
Then, I chide myself for having wondered such things about this man who has protected me, mentored me, taught me so much about leadership, integrity, and—dare I say—friendship. Not the kind I had experienced once as a youth. Not the thrilling excitement of two minds meeting as one over issues of profundity as well as the everyday mundanities of life. Not the until death type of loyalty that holds tight to your heart, giving each beat a purpose of great importance.
No. The kind of friendship he has taught me to value is that which exists in the realm of reality, that which extolls self-preservation over the idolatry of another being outside of yourself. This kind of friendship, that I had once thought so selfish, so cruel, is what I now believe to be far superior to the former. The kind of friendship I experienced, once, as a youth was, in its sly way, far more selfish. It clouded my eyes to my own needs while at the same time desperately clawing the other person closer to me, extinguishing their need for independence. Now that I see the truth, the other is blind forever.
To return to my point, I suppose that, ultimately, it does not matter what sort of man Albus is. So long as he is my protector, my mentor, my leader, why should it matter?
