The darkness grows deeper every day, with the bitter Autumn wind playing the unwelcome opening scene to the brutal winter that would follow.
Autumn is the season where all of nature reached its beautiful peak, before plummeting to the ground. It is the season of an unnecessarily prolonged death, lacking in hope or comfort.
You refuse to acknowledge the wind cutting through your skin to reach bone. The satisfaction the wind would receive in seeing you shiver was not something you were willing to offer, even under the cover of darkness. Daylight still held some warmth, but it was the wishful kind that had you standing in the sunlight, imagining summer.
The limbo is what garners your hatred. You are calm now, but your tremors will return once you reach home; when your eyes settled on a pale face and a stuttering chest. Her golden hair would hold more of a glittering white than it did the last time you'd seen her.
You couldn't identify it – curse or affliction – even its cause is lost on you, but you know that it continues to eat at her with every passing second. Without identification, there was no hope for a cure, but you had tried everything you could think of anyway. There had been no magic you hadn't been willing to study to find a hint of what could be wrong.
It was as futile as sitting beside her bed, praying for a miracle. That was why you wandered the streets in the season you hated. The taste of illness that pervaded the house reminded you of everything you wanted to forget.
Midnight was when you usually reached home. It was when everyone was asleep, and the ever-present heavy breathing of your mother mellowed into something that resembled peacefulness. You could imagine it was just another night you had successfully snuck out.
Urgency fills you tonight. The sensation sets your nerves alight and adds a falter to your stride, one that is more difficult to suppress than a shiver from a chilly wind.
Being sent to Durmstrang had been a luxury, but your mother had vehemently insisted that you be sent there. Despite his misgivings, your father had reluctantly affirmed your place in the school. Having gone to a smaller school of magic himself, he had never understood the hype over the more recognised schools. He never forgot to remind you of his disapproval.
Barely fifteen, but in your father's eyes, your current inabilities cement your father's lack of belief in Durmstrang. Durmstrang had willingly nudged open the door to the Dark Arts for you but continues to keep a close eye on your actions. The institution didn't trust you yet, and your research for Healing Magicks lead you to advanced texts that were beyond your understanding. It was unlikely that even your father would have understood the complex rituals within those tomes.
But, shouldering the blame had never been your father's strong suit. All the blame for your mother's condition were waiting to be placed on your shoulders because had you gone to a cheaper school, there would have been money to have a professional Healer treat your mother. Had you studied more, tried harder, helped more – it didn't matter what the actual problem was, it was always your fault. It had only been a week since you returned from Durmstrang; your father had begrudgingly acquiesced to your mother's request to see you again.
"Where have you been, boy? Your mother has been calling for you," your father's growl is your greeting as soon as the door swings open.
"Viktor."
You were getting better at ignoring your father's vitriol, but your mother had never liked seeing the two of you arguing. She didn't know the hostility of the atmosphere when she wasn't around, and telling her never seemed like a good idea. All that happened was that your father got angrier. His temper brewed and contained itself to boil over when your mother was absent.
It would reach its zenith before the last leaf of Autumn fell.
"Come, Gellert. You've been out so often recently that I haven't had a moment to talk with my son." The smile you receive is fragile, coloured with the pain you do not have the ability to remove. You barely notice your father bumping into you as he leaves the room, all you can focus on is the network of bones and skin that is your mother's hand.
Her words wash over you, weak but reassuring. Your mother is still beautiful, perhaps not physically, but you had long since learned to look beyond the physical. Even now, she comforted you when you know it should be the other way around. She should be conserving her energy instead of trying to make the situation feel normal.
Your bitter uselessness gnawed at you. If this was how it was going to be all your life, then you are everything your father accuses you of being.
"Gellert, are you listening to me?" You shrink back slightly at the stern glint in your mother's eye. "You can't go around moping all the time. It's not good for you. My intelligent son can bring the entire world to its knees if he wants. Change the world, my son. All of this," she motions to her bedridden state, "is for the greater good. It's for your chance of more."
The words cling to you, even as you allow the rest of your mother's words to wash over you as they did when you were a child. Her voice was the comforting sunlight, even in the thunderstorm of your father's fury.
"Selene..."
The whisper tugs you out of your almost meditative state of soothingly rubbing your mother's hand. Silence is your companion.
Your swimming vision flickers between a still chest and a soft smile. Your memories shutter, attempting to keep the vision of beautiful life that had been the trademark of your mother. You don't want to comprehend the gentle swaying of the last leaf that falls to the ground.
The sparkling rivulets on your father's cheeks catch your attention once he stops shaking you. His shouts turn into sobs, and you are still unable to comprehend your new reality.
Her last wish was for you to 'change the world'. Her voice rings in your mind as your back hits the ground outside your home, and your wand clatters next to you.
It rings in your mind as you activate the portkey back to Durmstrang.
Change the world.
The Golden Snitch [Biloko, Uagadou] – Costume Contest: Warlock – Write about Gellert Grindelwald
QL: Ballycastle Bats [Keeper] – Write a tragic story on an autumn night