From young we grow to old
Our mind sets in a permanent mould
The world becomes dark
And as our skin marks
Our soul dies a hundredfold
Sometimes Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore wishes he were blind. What he sees and what he has seen are images that a Pensieve could only temporarily remove.
He sits at his desk for hours on end, staring at that one blank piece of paper hoping that everything will finally make sense.
Seeing the stars always helped, always put things into perspective.
The billions of stars hiding the secrets of life somewhere else. The endless expanse of space and there had to be SOMETHING or SOMEONE out there.
He was a secret admirer of Muggle science fiction.
And it made him realise that his life wasn't important and the choices he made would not be remembered...by many.
He died looking up at the stars.
And he couldn't hope for anything better.
Gellert Grindelwald.
The name still and shivers down his spine.
Both good and bad.
He remembers how they used to spend every moment together, planning (plotting) for a future that looked promising. Very promising.
Albus was bewitched by his best friends blonde hair, and blue blue eyes and petal soft skin. He didn't even notice the turn Gellert made, how his writing became spiked, how his voice became sharp until it was too late.
But still regretting was not an option.
In a future that looked so bleak without him
Hogwarts was something...something so special
The whole place was alive
It lived, it breathed, it changed and unchanged to places he had never seen before.
It's why he still lived because of all of them
And Harry
Especially Harry.
The Poor Little Lost Boy Who Lived.
But even when your blind, you still have memories. And memories is all that Albus Dumbledore has left