A/N: QLFC Round 2 | Wimbourne Wasps Beater 2 | Main Prompt: Go the Distance | Optional Prompts: 4) sleet, 5) ornate mirror, and 9) umbrella | Word Count w/o A/N: 1,223
TW: grief/loss
Story notes: 'Zayde' is Yiddish for grandfather
In Your Arms
"I will search the world, I will face its harms
'Till I find my hero's welcome waiting in your arms"
Click, clack, click. Tiny pellets of ice bounced off the outside of the stone walls, their distinct sound echoing in Anthony Goldstein's ears as he wandered the Hogwarts halls near Ravenclaw Tower on a cold winter night. Clomp, went his boots, striking the floors with methodic precision as he stared down at his feet, willing his mind to just shut down already. He needed a mental umbrella, something, anything, to repel thoughts slamming into his brain in rhythm with the sleet outside. Abruptly, he turned on his heel, ceasing his aimless pacing in favor of heading to an actual destination, desperately hoping to avoid Mrs. Norris and her keeper along the way.
The mysterious seventh floor room in which Anthony had been attending the covert meetings of Dumbledore's Army called him. While it appeared as the perfect DA meeting room during those select times, he knew it had the capability to serve other purposes as well, containing an ever-evolving, ever-expanding assortment of rooms both old and new. The room had intrigued him from the first DA meeting, when his Ravenclaw mind had realised its ability to alter itself by circumstance, and he had promptly set out to discover the extent of what it could create.
As he walked to and fro before the blank wall, a hidden door made itself visible, and, walking in, Anthony found himself in a particular room that seemed to have been around for centuries, chock full of a variety of items from the mundane to the extraordinary. Old books, torn robes, ancient jewels, gilded bird cages. What had immediately caught his eye was a large object shrouded in black cloth. Anthony had cautiously wandered over and reached out a hand, pulling aside the concealing fabric to reveal an ornate mirror the likes of which he had never seen. There was an inscription written above the reflective surface, in what appeared to be some ancient language — however, closer inspection proved it to be rather ordinary, although cleverly arranged. 'I show not your face, but your heart's desire.' My heart's desire? Hesitantly, mind thrumming with anticipation, he took a step back, gazing into the mirror.
And there it was. He saw himself, but he was not alone. An older man with a sparse smattering of thin gray hair around his head, large black spectacles perched atop his nose, and an intense gaze under thick eyebrows stood beside him. In the mirror, Anthony and the man were outside, wandering around the edge of a large lake that he recognized immediately: Loch Lomond.
—
Over the summer, just before school started back up, his grandfather had taken him on a trip to introduce Anthony to the true depths of the natural beauty of Scotland, culminating here, at this magnificent lake that spread between the lowlands and the Highlands across the Highlands Boundary Fault. It was early in the morning, and birds were chirping from the surrounding trees as the sun shone down. Suddenly, a gruff voice joined their tune, singing softly. On and on the voice went, exuding the quiet strength of a man who had walked the earth for decades. "...the wee birdies sing and the wildflowers spring / And in sunshine the waters are sleeping / But the broken heart it kens, nae second spring again / Though the woeful may cease from their grieving…"
Anthony had stood listening in silence, afraid to break the wonder of the moment with even an errant breath. Then came the parting line: "...on the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond," followed by a heavy sigh. Anthony finally dared to move, raising his head to look up at his grandfather, and finding an odd amalgamation of both melancholy yearning and a deep contentment etched upon his features. After a few moments, Anthony broke the silence. "That was beautiful... I didn't know you could sing."
"What?" The man had replied, before shaking his head, dislodging the fog of memory. "Oh, it's been years. Fifteen, actually. I haven't — I haven't sung that since the day your grandmother passed. It was her favorite tune. How I wish you could have met my Ann — she left everywhere a little brighter from being graced with her presence. And my voice is nothing, compared to her... she was like an angelic nightingale. It's been fifteen years today since I heard that voice, Ant, and not a day goes by that I don't wish I could hear it one more time. But what I had was more than one man could ever hope to be blessed with in a lifetime — don't you forget this, Ant: time passes in the blink of an eye, experience gives way to memory, and when all that remains is memory, those memories are the greatest blessings we will ever have. Remember that, and you will be a happy man, my sheifale. One day, I will hold my dear Ann in my arms again, but until then, I can go on with all I need." And with that, he opened his arms wide, wrapping Anthony in a tight embrace.
In the midst of their hug, the clouds had decided to make their presence known. Droplets of water rained down all around them and on them. When the two broke apart, Anthony found his grandfather sporting a wide grin. "Good thing I came prepared," he said, taking off the bag on his back and pulling out two umbrellas, one pink with yellow polka dots and orange and the other a dark green. He passed the polka-dotted one to Anthony. "This was Ann's favorite, she would want you to have it." His eyes were twinkling with mirth.
"Right, it's not at all that you want to see me looking ridiculous carrying this thing around," Anthony said, although he took the umbrella.
"I would never do such a thing!" The raucous laughter belied this claim.
Anthony chuckled and went along with the man's antics, twirling his umbrella in a Mary Poppins-esque fashion much to his amusement before raising it up to block the rain.
Four weeks after that trip, David Goldstein found himself welcomed into the arms of his beloved Ann once more.
—
His mind arriving back at the mirror, Anthony whispered, "Zayde? Is that you?"
The grin that spread across the older man's features softened the effect of his intense nature, revealing the compassionate man beneath the bushy eyebrows.
Anthony knelt down in front of the mirror, and the reflection of his grandfather followed suit, sitting beside him and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He could practically feel the warm weight, even knowing there was no one there.
But he is here, Anthony thought. I carry his memory with me. Slowly, he rose from the ground, and with one last look at the fabricated reflection in the mirror, tugged the black cloth back over it's surface. Maybe one day, he would find himself wrapped in his grandfather's arms again. But until the day came, he would do all he could to make it so that when he too was gone, his own memory would serve as a blessing to others as well. The DA needed him. Hogwarts needed him. It would not do to live in the past — he had to keep moving forward, doing what he could, facing what he must.
Fin.
A/N 2: In loving memory of my dear Poppy. זכרונו לברכה