- June 1899 -

Ten wooden chairs stood in two rows. Eight of them were empty. Albus had told the vicar it would be a small affair but he had still overestimated. In front of the chairs was a rectangular hole in the ground, six feet long and six feet deep. Albus walked slowly and awkwardly. His steps were uneven. The coffin was heavy. Aberforth walked beside him on the other side. Behind Aberforth, was the vicar who had volunteered out of necessity. Behind Albus walked Elphias. It was pathetic. He was useless. In a wizarding community, he could have used magic. In a wizarding community, she would not have been so afraid of the neighbours. In a wizarding community, her daughter wouldn't have been attacked and her husband would still be by her side. His mother deserved more.

They set the coffin down and Albus, Aberforth, and Elphias sat down next to Ariana and Mrs. Bagshot. The vicar spoke. He read from the bible. It was very religious and impersonal. Albus didn't mind. The vicar hadn't known his mother so what else could he be expected to say. Still, Albus didn't care to listen. His eyes wandered around the cemetery. Tall trees lined the small iron fence that encircled it and their branches twisted and weaved towards each other creating a canopy overhead which shielded the frail inhabitants below. Most of the head stones looked old. They leaned heavily and were cracked. Some were missing large chunks from their corners. The inscriptions were worn and weathered and no longer legible. There was something comforting in their age, the continuity of tradition, and location, and humanity.

The vicar finished his sermon and asked if anyone wanted to speak. Albus stood. He pulled out a piece of parchment and began to read. "I have had the privilege of interacting with people at the tops of their fields, all exceptionally brilliant and marvellously skilled. But when it comes to strength and resilience, none of them topped Mum. The happiest memory I have is the five of us, Mum, Dad, Ab, Ari, and me, running around the back garden chasing away vermin. Ari had just learned to walk. The rabbits seemed to like her and would hop up to her and she would fall over and laugh. The loud giggle would spook the rabbits and they'd dart off which set the giggles off in the rest of us. I don't know how you carry on after that is ripped away from you. She managed it though."

The wind rustled through the leaves in the canopy overhead. A strong gust ripped the parchment from his hand. He watched as it swirled through the cemetery. As it passed over a headstone, a fracture line cut through the stone. Albus turned to Ariana. Tears flooded her eyes and his lip quivered.

Mrs. Bagshot reached for her hand. "I think I'll take Ariana home."

Ariana nodded and stood. Albus walked to her and hugged her tightly. When the breeze died down, he let go and let Mrs. Bagshot take her home.

It was silent for a moment. Albus didn't know what to do or say. He stood in front of his chair. Aberforth and Elphias sat in the chairs on either side and the vicar stood at the head of the grave.

"That was a touching speech. I know your mother was happy to hear it," the vicar said.

Albus gave him a small nod. "Should we… um…" He gestured to the coffin.

"Yes, let's lay her to rest."

They used straps to lower the coffin into the ground. Albus tossed a handful of dirt in followed by Aberforth. Elphias picked up the shovel that lay next to a pile of dirt. Albus took it from him and began to fill in the hole.

Movement from across the cemetery drew Albus' attention. A young man, about his age, moved slowly through the headstones. He glanced haphazardly at the inscriptions. He stopped at one of the larger stones and looked at it for a long time. He opened the book he carried and penciled a note on the back cover. Thin sun rays pricked through the canopy and glowed in his blonde hair. By the time Albus had filled in the grave, the man had left.

A wooden stake was used to mark the grave. The grave stood out from the others. The others had headstones and most of them were in pairs, husband and wife, laid to rest together. His mother would never have that. They had never been told where his father's body was. The bottom of the North Sea was Albus' guess. His mother would have though that was for the best but at one point, years ago, when they were chasing garden gnomes, she would have wanted him beside her.

They walked home in silence. Out from under the shade of the trees, it was hot. Albus shrugged off his suit jacket and pulled at the knot of his tie. His steps were quick and heavy and kicked up dust along the road. Elphias and Aberforth couldn't keep up or didn't care to. He walked through the village. It was small, a square, a grocer, a pub, a barber shop. During the summers off from school it hadn't seemed so bad but that had only been for two months. The rest of his life would now unfold within the village limits. Market, beer, haircut, repeat until it greyed and fell out. What was the point of the past seven years? What was the point of any of it?

He stopped at the front gate to the house. The house looked small from the road and unassuming. It blended in with all the houses in the village, cream stucco exterior, framed and trimmed with dark brown wood. The red paint of the front door was faded and chipped. A bench sat crocked, its front right leg sunk into the ground, below the large front window made up of small diamond shaped pains of glass held in place by a black iron lattice. The curtains were pulled tightly across the window shutting out the sun, and the neighbours, and the world.

A symbol had been carved into the gate's wooden post. It was a triangle with a circle in the middle and a vertical line running from the tip to the base. Albus had never seen it before, on the gate post or anywhere else. He looked around. There was no one in the road besides Aberforth and Elphias who had caught up. Albus studied it, traced it with his finger. Aberforth pushed passed him into the front garden and into the house. Elphias stopped beside him. Albus sighed and followed his brother into the house. Behind him, the stale summer air rushed to fill the vacuum as Elphias dissaperated.

- March 1945 -

Albus apparated to a village lane. The low stone wall that ran alongside the road held in the rain and turned the pact dirt to mud. The water flowed towards the wooden gates that periodically interrupted the wall. He stood in front of one of those gates. The wooden posts holding the gate were lopsided. The top of the left post had been sawed off. The two-story house that sat on the other side of the gate, cream with dark wood trim was familiar but unsettling, as if he were remembering it from a dream, skewed, unreliable. The windows were dark. It was the middle of the night. Everyone was asleep. He couldn't see the window tucked up in the attic under the front dormer but he knew it was there. It watched him.

A light flicked on in a second-floor window in the house next door. Albus turned away and began to walk down the lane towards the village square. His shoes sunk further into the mud with each step. He turned right at the crossroads and passed several more houses. He stopped in front of fifth. It was dark like the others. He pushed open the gate and walked up the path to the front door. He knocked, softly at first, out of instinct to not wake anyone, then louder when he realized that waking the occupants was in fact what he was trying to do. After the third knock, a light grew on the other side of the door.

"Professor?" a man croaked from the other side of the cracked door. His eyes blinked furiously behind the lantern.

Albus almost didn't recognized the man dressed in his pyjamas and dressing robe. He had graduated ten years ago still looking very much like a boy. The disheveled black hair gave it away. For anyone else, Albus would have attributed that to being aroused from sleep but Mr. Potter had turned up to every class every day with that same unruly mop. "Mr. Potter. Sorry to disturb you at this hour. May I come in?"

"Um, right, right, of course." Mr. Potter stepped aside. Albus closed and locked the door behind himself and followed Mr. Potter into the kitchen. "Have a seat. Should I put the kettle on?"

"No, no. I won't be long. I recognise this is unusual."

"My old transfiguration professor popping round at two in the morning? Yes, I would say so," Mr. Potter said. He set the lantern on the center of the table. The room was dim and shadows loomed in the corners and curled down over the tops of the cabinets.

"This may sound odd but we are living in odd times. As I'm sure you are aware the dark wizard Grindelwald has been making advances across Europe. He is using the muggle war as a cover and is in doubt responsible for some of its carnage. He needs to be stopped."

Mr. Potter nodded. "It is said his power has grown beyond anything the wizarding world has seen in centuries. I don't know how it can be done."

"I've been working on that and I believe you are in possession of something that could be a great value. A family heirloom, given to you by your father."

Mr. Potter sat up a little straighter. His sleep hooded eyes widened. He could not deny it now.

"I need to borrow it."

- July 1899 -

Albus startled awake at a rush of air over the back of his neck and the rustle of feathers. Two round eyes blinked at him from his desk by the window. The sun hadn't risen yet but the blue in the sky had begun to break through the black bathing the village in a cool grey wash. It was early, four maybe. A light breeze blew though the open window finally breaking though the heat that baked his attic room. It wouldn't last. He got out of bed, pulled on a shirt, and lit the lantern on his desk. The owl carried a letter from Elphias.

Albus,

How are you? I hope you are alright – or as alright as a person can be given the circumstances. Romania is exquisite. I met a couple locals – Solomanari. They look after the dragons. They took me into the mountains to see the nests. They're massive. You think you're looking at a hill but then suddenly the ground shifts and wings sprout and it takes to the skies. It's a wonder that something so big can fly. And their eggs are the size of your head. One of the new hatchlings had three heads and they were very excited. There were drinks all around the campfire that night. One of the nests we saw was built in the footprint of a giant. The indent in the earth was so deep that it provided ample shelter. The Solomanar said the giants live further back in the mountains and are rarely seen. There's a cave full of treasure somewhere amongst the peaks past the dragon nests. The giants have kept guard of it for centuries. The world feels so big out here. The mountains reach up to the sky from every direction. Dragons fly overhead, circling the valley, like storm clouds. I remember when Hogwarts used to feel like that. The staircases wound endlessly up the towers. The corridors felt like a maze. And students would charge through them on quidditch days like thunder. I was intimidated by all of it back then. I'm not sure I would have made through until Christmas break our first year without you. There's something different about the big world out here though. The small, insignificant feeling it renders onto you isn't discouraging or scary. It's freeing. It's inspiring. It's everything we could have wanted. I regret deeply everyday that you couldn't be here.

-Elphias

Albus' jaw was tight when he got to the end and the parchment was crumpled from his grip. The owl that delivered it hooted. "You want a treat? How far did you fly exactly? After all that way you probably don't appreciate me scrunching up the letter?" He shook out a couple bird feed pellets from the jar on his desk for the owl and smoothed out the parchment. He took a deep breath and read it again. He closed his eyes and tried to picture the valley between the mountains where the dragons built their nests. If he was forced to live vicariously through Elphias, he might as well try to enjoy it.

He waited until the sun was up to fetch water from the well in the field across the road. The green grass in the front garden tickled his ankles. It was overgrown and spilled sloppily into Mrs Bagshot's meticulously crafted flower beds. The grass on her side of the flower beds was short and edged neatly. Across the dirt road the field had yellowed and the tall blades scratched. The well stood in the center of the field, raised on a small mound. A cylindrical stone wall was build around it and a circular wooden lid sat on top. The lid was secured with a pad lock to prevent contamination. A metal pump was affixed to the stone wall and a pipe ran through a hole cut in the lid down into the water stores. There was a notice on the pump handle.

"Drought Notice. Please conserve water. Do not use well water for gardens."

Albus placed the first bucket under the spout and pulled the lever up and pushed it back down. He winced at the screech it made. It was worse than an unpaid delivery owl. He was sweating by the time both his buckets were full. A family was walking up the road as he walked back to the house, a husband and wife and three boys. They were dressed smart. She was wearing a pale bule dress, the colour of the early morning sky. The boys were all in dress shirts and khaki shorts.

"Good morning," Albus said as he approached the road and they walked past.

The boys paid him no mind. They chased each other in circles around their parents in some game of tag. The man turned towards him but his wife tugged sharply on his arm to stop him. Her eyes stared pointedly at the water buckets in his hands before she turned sharply and continued down the road. It was Sunday. They were going to church.

Albus stood in the road and watched them. He didn't understand the basis for her disapproval. It wasn't his fault his father wasn't around. It wasn't his fault his mother was dead. Muggles were strange folk. They worshiped a man on a weekly basis who could walk on water and turn it into wine but hunted wizards as if one form of magic was different from another. They preached love for one's neighbour but formed zealous mobs lead by furious torch light at the first murmurs of a witch in town. Muggles were the dangerous ones.

He watched as the boys laughed and shouted and kicked stones and chased birds. They had no care for any neighbours who might still be sleeping or the birds looking for their breakfast. They were selfish and impulsive and lacked empathy. They could have easily been the muggle boys that attacked his sister. He imagined chasing after them like they cased after the bird. Like his father chased the other boys. He would wrap his hands around their throats and crush the bones into the esophagus. He would watch their eyes plead for mercy and he would squeeze harder. The other boys didn't pay any mind to Ariana's pleas. The judge didn't pay any mind to his own pleas when he sentenced his father to life in Azkaban.

The family was out of sight, around a bend in the road, when something made the boys erupt in laughter and the sound carried back to him. It was full of joy and life. Albus knew he would never be able to actually do it. Life was precious. The muggle boys weren't the only ones who marred their lives seven years ago. Their father had done just as much damage to their family by taking on the mantle of judge, jury, and executioner. At least that was his mother's opinion. Albus wasn't so sure.

The water Albus had collected was used up quickly by breakfast tea and the wash up. He needed a bath and as the day went on and it grew hotter, he needed to cool off too. He walked to the stream that ran just north of the village. The water level was low, and it trickled meagrely. There was no one around but he followed the stream away from the road into a small, wooded area just to be safe. The shade from the trees dropped the temperature ten degrees. He stripped off his clothes and folded them into a neat pile. He set his wand on top and stepped into the water. It was cool and refreshing against his skin. He splashed the water up over his arms and face and the back of his neck and did his best to scrub clean. The steady flow was soothing and he closed his eyes and imagined Romania and Greece and Morocco and all the places he had planned to visit.

Albus startled at the snap of a twig. A young man stood up on the bank, watching him.

Albus froze. He had an urge to step back into deeper water to cover his body but also to step forward towards his wand. He did neither and instead, stood vulnerable to the young man's gaze.

Eyes were often on him, professors in admiration, students in jealous annoyance, strangers who recognized his last name in morbid curiosity. He lived under the gaze of others like he lived under the peaked dormer attic ceiling, like he lived under the Statute of Secrecy. It was his stasis state. These eyes though, were different.

This gaze unnerved him but also reeled him in. The man's posture was relaxed, leaned against a tree. The left side of his cream and pale blue striped shirt hung untucked from his pants. His arms were folded across his chest and a book was held loosely in his hand. His eyes however, were intent in their gaze, blue and dark and set deep. His nose was sharp and his lips curled up into a leer. Goose bumps peppered Albus' arms but he straightened his shoulders and met the man's stare. He was handsome.

He pulled the blade of grass from his teeth and spoke. "You've left yourself exposed. Nine inches?" His accent was heavy and hailed from eastern European. Albus' cheeks warmed as he fumbled for a response. The man chuckled and pointed to his wand. "It's not wise to leave your wand laying out for any muggle to see."

"I suppose not."

The man smiled and walked away, back towards the village. His blond hair caught the sunlight that cut through the trees and shimmered. It was the same man from the cemetery. "I'll see you around."