Why does destiny have to be so cruel? Why does Love fall when confronted with hate and anger and betrayal? Why can't I fool myself, why can't I believe my own stories that Love is all-powerful?
How come I, of all people, ask myself this? Am I not the old good wizard everyone trusts, the shining beacon in a world during and after a war? I watch his slowly dying corpse, surprising myself I by my down detachment. What have I become? A hero, I tell myself. A good person. He was evil and his soul was black.
Black as night (leaving way for stars), black as the rose he used as his mark, black as the box of Pandora (in which hope itself was stored)… No, I banish these thoughts. Black is the nothing, the lack of emotion, the lack of light, the absence of all colours! Black, the colour of darkness, the colour of the Dark Lord! Grindewald's colour…
White is his opposite, I am his opposite, and everyone told me so. Thus, am I white? I am not. However, I swear upon all deities above and below, I will be! White as fresh snow, fallen from heaven, white as polished marble, white as pure light; I will be the presence of all colours. I will be passionate as red, cheerful as yellow, warm as orange or brown, noble as gold, cold as silver, cunning as green, intelligent as blue…
I close my eyes take a deep breath. The air itself tastes of blood and dust…
My brother made a painting once. My lover, still untouched by darkness then, was a black figure beside me, holding an equally black rose. I do not know how he knew, but somehow he did. And me he did not know what colour to paint, so he left me white. He told me any colour would fit. What an irony.
I will never be black, for my name itself means white: Albus. Albus Dumbledore. I will be any of colours beside it. Any colours.
February 1945
Final Battle against Grindelwald
WordCount: 348
A/N: This is the response to a challange issued by EmmaKane on a Romanian forum. Hope you like it. R/R
