Author's Note: Like the entirety of the world, I was hit incredibly hard by the loss of the incomparable Alan Rickman to that devil known as cancer yesterday morning. Cancer is a cruel beast that seems to only attack when our backs are turned. Every person in the world will be somehow directly affected by cancer in their lives, may it be personally, a family member, a friend, coworker, or a beloved fixture in the magical realm of entertainment.

Thank you for your contributions to our popular culture, Mr. Rickman.

In this, I offer my tribute. Please ignore any mistakes. This was written solely as tribute to Alan Rickman, and for no other reason. I did not edit the content.

(There will be a AN#2 at the end with my words from my personal Facebook)

Namesakes, Inheritance, and Legacies
a tribute

It was easy for Albus Severus Potter to sneak into the Headmaster's office. Almost too easy, but Al was not the sort to look a gift horse in the mouth, even at twelve. James had inherited their father's invisibility cloak, and the hardest part of this adventure was knicking it from the older boy's trunk.

Al always knew Rose was his favorite cousin for a reason.

It had taken the better part of two decades for the feat to be achieved, but Harry Potter had worked tirelessly and endlessly to convince the board of governors to include a portrait of Severus Snape to the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. Earlier that month, he succeeded, and the reveal and dedication was that morning. There was a celebratory breakfast for the students, and the members of Slytherin House had their own party in their common room in typical Slytherin style: the raise of a wand, a moment of silence, and a toast (firewhiskey for the older students, pumpkin juice for the younger). It was a solemn affair, but befitting the once Head of their House.

Still wrapped in the cloak, Al had slipped in while Ministry members and reporters had come and gone from the office, standing perfectly silent in a small alcove to one side. His father must have already made his speech, for his was currently speaking to a witch from The Daily Prophet with dark hair, a kindly focused expression on her face and an unobtrusive navy blue quill in a hand that was moving swiftly over a notepad. The sight brought a smile to young Al's face, remembering how his aunt Hermione had essentially banished that cow Rita Skeeter from England, and from anything that remotely resembled journalism or literature after the skeezy blonde had written a furious opinion piece about "The Once-Chosen One" and his quest to "besmirch the noble walls of Hogwarts with the face of a Death Eater."

It only took Hermione Weasley neé Granger a scant six hours post-publication of the article to have a retraction from Skeeter for that same day's issue of The Evening Prophet and have the woman fired and name blackened.

Flourish and Blotts was seen using Incendio, and later Evanesco on a small mountain of Skeeter books from over the years the same evening. Al assumed other bookstores soon followed suit.

Hermione's weapons were few. An alliance with Draco Malfoy and a mason jar.

Few, but incredibly effective.

Before long, the office had cleared out of everyone, including Headmaster Thribbault, and Al emerged from his hiding place and climbed onto the massive desk, a tricky task due to the burden of the cloak. Al didn't want the various portraits to notice his presence, yet. He wanted to watch.

A few portraits were sleeping, another was scratching his nose. One he recognized as Phineas Nigellus Black from his portrait at home was reclining against his frame, visibly relieved that the throngs of people had finally left. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore was staring unnervingly and unwaveringly in Al's direction, and the boy started to doubt the stories about the hallowed cloak.

Beside Dumbledore's portrait rested the newest addition: Severus Snape. Snape's black eyes were surveying the room, one he never personally used during his short tenure as Headmaster, silently challenging the other portrait-former-Headmaster's to object to his presence now that Harry Potter and the collection of journalists had left.

Al had no idea how long he sat on the desk, but he knew enough about Headmaster Thribbault's routine to know the relatively young wizard (by comparison to those pictured around the office) enjoyed lunch in the Great Hall, then would visit the grounds and Hagrid, check on the school's thestrals, then visit with each professor in turn before dinner. The wizard did not even hold office hours until evening. If a student needed him, and ended up being out too last, the Headmaster would personally escort his pupil to his or her dorm room to avoid conflict with patrolling prefects.

Yes, Al had time.

The cloak rustled softly and he removed it from his form before folding it neatly and placing the ancient cloth on the desk beside where he sat with his legs crossed in front of him. He wrapped his arms around his knees as he regarded to the two portraits before him.

"You resemble your father, young Mr. Potter," said the portrait of Dumbledore.

Phineas Nigellus snorted from his frame. "Aye, this is true, but he luckily didn't inherit more than the color where the hair is concerned."

"But a Potter he clearly is," continued Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eye. "What brings you to this office on such a day?"

Al smiled in a way that his Aunt 'Dromeda one said was similar to the original James Potter, the grandfather he would not meet until he crossed the Veil. "I believe you already know the answer to that, Sir." For emphasis, he flicked his green eyes, a Potter legacy that only he inherited out of his siblings, toward to the newest portrait.

The action was not missed by Snape's portrait. "How did 'The Chosen One' take to his son's sorting into my own House?"

"He was proud. As proud as he was when James earned his place in Gryffindor, the same when Lily joined him there."

Snape arched a black eyebrow. "Seems Potter is as sentimental as ever."

"Dad believes that we carry a legacy in our names. That anything done by our namesakes can be remembered in us. He doesn't want anything anyone fought for to be forgotten."

"Well said, for a second year," said Phineas Nigellus.

Al sent a thankful smile to the portrait before he addressed the pair in front of him once more. "Dad spent a while convincing the governors to add you to the office, sir," he said to Snape. "They didn't think you should have been. You did not complete the year. They said you abandoned your post, and they were under the impression you were in Voldemort's pocket."

Snape said nothing, but the look he gave Al was arch and sardonic. The boy almost laughed, recalling the stories his father would tell about his time at Hogwarts and the constant back-and-forth with the formidable Potions Master, and how a great deal of the antagonism was well-deserved as the years went on.

"Precocious, isn't he?" said Phineas Nigellus.

"Would you have done it all the same way if you had the chance, sir?" Al asked the portrait of Snape.

Snape regarded him with shrewd eyes. "You mean allow myself to be seduced by the dark arts? Become a Death Eater? Allow this man's obsession with the Hallows consume him until I was forced to take his life?"

Al just sat and waited, saying nothing. Snape also remained silent. Al took that as he did not know. He was, after all, just a magical portrait. As sentient as such portraits are, they were just a magical signature, not the real thing.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Was there anything you wished to say about your legacy, young Mr. Potter?"

Al nodded. "James Sirius represents two men who risked and lost everything for what they believed in and who they loved. Lily Luna, two women who loved unconditionally who faced opposition for either who she was or what she believed in. Dad named me Albus, so everyone will remember that while Albus Dumbledore was hailed as the greatest wizard that ever lived, he was also human. He made mistakes that he regretted to his grave. He was great, you were great, sir, but you were just like any of us. Anyone else could have stepped up and done the same thing, but no one did. You carried your demons with you and let them fuel the fire in you to beat a wizard who believed in what you once stood for. Dad said I was named after the two bravest men he ever knew."

Dumbledore glanced at Snape out of the corner of his eye, the latter man looked bored as we leaned against his frame and stared off across the room. With a resigned sigh, Snape shifted his gaze to the young boy on the desk.

"Why are you droning on about these people? I don't know how much your irritating father has told you, but I did not precisely get on well with those you've waxed poetic about."

"I feel honored to be included in that number, Severus."

"My displeasure with you was made clear in this very office, Albus."

Al sniggered as the portraits bickered.

Dumbledore sent his twinkling gaze back to Al. "Who was the other brave wizard your father referred to? You said 'two bravest men.'"

The boy on the desk shifted his eyes between the two portraits in front of his perch. Eyes as green as the stripes of his tie that he inherited from his grandmother. A woman who, in her childhood, had a friend who would risk everything for her. A friend who would push her away and stand beside the most dangerous wizard to walk the planet to keep her safe. To keep her safe, he did what he was told. Killed, tortured, send the attentions of the other Death Eaters in another direction when she was in danger. When he delivered a prophecy in the hopes of bartering for her safety but actually sealed her death warrant, he knew regret that burned like fiendfyre. He was reminded of his error whenever he looked upon the son that resembled his father, the older man's rival, but had his mother's eyes. He could say nothing when he learned that Dumbledore was grooming Harry for slaughter. Kill Dumbledore to protect Draco's sould. Protect the other students while Harry went on something akin to a snipe hunt and Death Eaters infiltrated the school. Be killed out of another man's fear of death, staring into the eyes of the boy who looked like his fathers but had the eyes of his mother, pleading to let his voice be heard and his story be known.

A story that was known well in the Potter family, but only the parts the world needed to know would be told to the rest.

"My name is Albus Severus."

Author's Note #2: From my personal Facebook,

Okay, I usually don't make big memorial posts, even if a celebrity death hits me on an emotional level. David Bowie hit me, really, but nothing like this. I've always admired Alan Rickman as a person an a performer. His roles were all unique and immersive. His voice work was distinctive. You see him in interviews or on set and he is so...human. These actors are put on a pedestal so high that they rarely met society's expectations, but I think he earned his place in our esteem and will continue to do so with his legacy in film. The screen and stage will forever be lacking without his one of a kind voice and aura. Ever since I was a kid, he struck a cord with me. Then I started to read the Harry Potter series when GoF was released (2000?), and pictured him as Snape, who quickly became my favorite character from PS. A couple of years later, the film was released, and I was floored at how perfect he was.

He made me laugh in Galaxy Quest, he made me a hopeless romantic in Sense and Sensibility. I was horrified of him in Robin Hood (I saw it when I was probably too young...), and he made me cry in DHp2.

I will miss you, Mr. Rickman.

RIP

Alan Rickman (1946-2016)