* * * Internal Crisis * * *
Edward notices a difference immediately. In direct correlation with the amount of thoughts Albus has so-far taken into himself, the booming onslaught in his own head lessens… as if every tale being simultaneously told by the same voice had somehow magnified the volume of its counterparts to an excruciating degree – and is finally turning back down to normal levels. Through the filter of the grandwizard's human psyche – those same thoughts now play through his mind only in single file, as Albus thinks of them. Naturally, for Edward, this presents a considerable relief… though for Albus, it is anything but.
Even as the brave headmaster remains determinedly silent while he proceeds through the next few gobletfuls, Edward can hear what is happening. Inescapably, Voldemort's thought-stream of memories has begun to regale the grandwizard's mind with the tragic first-hand details of every heart-rending encounter from start to gruesome finish. Most devastating of all, however – is the fact that the good wizard is experiencing each horrific assault as if it were a recollection of his own… causing him to nearly crumple under the desolating weight of his own conscience – as if it had been truly he who killed them all.
Oh, horrors! As much of an attack upon sanity as it yet remains for Edward to feel almost entirely unable to focus on anything other than these heinous accounts, this is so much worse. Evidently, by the very act of swallowing – the venerated professor has, in effect, magically adopted each of these foreign thoughts unto himself… to the point where the only internal clue he now has – that they weren't genuine experiences of his own to begin with – is the fact that he is so absolutely sickened by the idea of them, alongside the memory that he knew ahead of time to expect it.
It is a horribly painful scenario to observe… only exacerbated by the fact that Edward had never actually known what internal reality was behind the various tortured exclamations of Voldemort's previous victims. Now, he does.
It's a reality every bit as insidious as having just woken up from being turned into a vampire –only to find out that you'd just finished instinctively slaughtering whatever humans happened to be in the immediate vicinity at the time… most likely people you cared about. He had been spared that particular horror – most thankfully – but others hadn't. They had been burdened with the true evil of their nature, right from the start. And it haunted them.
For him, that most consequential of understandings had been slow in coming. But when it finally did – it had been bad enough feeling supremely guilty over the first violator he ever killed. Esme's ex. No matter how justified he still felt the attack had truly been, he had crossed a line back then – one that he could never cross back over. And because he had been previously innocent of any such offense – outside the confines of his newly predatory mind, that is – the realization had struck him with crippling intensity. He was a murderer.
It had been a permanent and major blow to his own self-image; proof that he no longer had a soul. At the same time, it had become all the more difficult to not just continue doing it. It's because an uncrossable line is always easiest not to cross – the first time, he recollects sadly. Of course, as a newborn, such is the bane of nearly every vampire in existence – to cross that line the first time he feeds. Usually, before he even knows what he's doing. It's a very rude awakening into their damned reality. But nevertheless, one most get used to.
It all starts in the mind. Once a crossing of the line has been accepted there, subconsciously or otherwise, it is only a matter of time before it gets crossed elsewhere. By then, the real damage has already been done. People don't usually seem to realize how potent of a truth this is, he knows… but the underlying nature of one's fantasies is enough to make the spur-of-the-moment difference between a savage and irrevocable attack – or merely the plans leading up to one. That was, to a large degree, how he had been able to resist harming Bella at their first meeting… because the killing of innocents is one of those mental lines that he has never crossed, by strategic isolation (thanks incredibly much to Carlisle!) and then painstaking choice even during his most abominable years. In the end, his resistance proved to be all the stronger because of it. Undoubtedly, the same remains true even more so for Carlisle – his most admirable exemplar – who, though he once felt the damnable desire, has never entertained the notion of feeding from humans in his fantasies.
And so, the true torture of each of the pensieve's victims has become distressingly clear. By making his thoughts their own, Voldemort has crossed this most uncrossable of lines for them… and left them believing unimaginable guilt, where there was none. The crumbling in upon themselves – of every one of Voldemort's muggle victims – takes on an entirely new meaning now. It was not some physical ailment that brought them blamelessly to their knees, leaving them unresistant when the inferi stepped in to drag them away – but the soul-wrenching devastation of having their innocence mentally stripped away from them… forever.
Entirely too familiar a situation, Edward painfully recalls his own catalytic transformation, in which the nature of his talent had ultimately made that fact true for him in more ways than one. Such a thing should never have to happen to anyone, he adamantly believes. Nonetheless, his tormented eyes shift guiltily towards Bella – his wonderfully innocent, strong-willed, and still-so-naïve Love – and he hugs her, very carefully, just a little bit closer.
It's a foregone conclusion that each of the unfortunate drinkers of Voldemort's potion has felt every bit this way. Many of them didn't even get past the first swallow.
For Albus, of course, it is a little bit different: he was expecting this, first of all. Being already familiar with the magical world – and the supernatural sharing of thoughts in specific – makes him better prepared to embrace the idea that they might not be his own. Neither is he new to the overwhelming feeling of guilt engendered by each tragic scenario… though apparently, his own history has never been confirmed of such. Still, his experience in dealing with the emotion has allowed him to more easily tolerate the drinking of more… inevitably acting as much a boon as it is a bother, as the devastating burden of every new set of thoughts – makes the next gulp ever harder than the one before.
There's simply no way the good headmaster could ever stomach being as sadistically happy about it all, as these thoughts are. "No, no, no, no, I can't, I can't, don't make me, I don't want to…" Albus devastatedly pleads of Harry. He's only drunken five goblets full so far, and there's still more than half of the potion left to go.
Firmly encased in Edward's comforting arms as he continues singing to himself diligently and even rocks her slightly, Bella has tears streaming down her face. She looks sick from merely just watching them… but neither has the whole ordeal been something she could tear her eyes away from. It's clearly that important for them to have happen.
Painstakingly struggling to maintain conversation for his sake, and for her own sanity in the midst of all this, Bella whispers her fears dejectedly, "What's it doing to him?"
As Edward's expression of worried vigilance, while looking at her, promptly returns to one of tormented understanding on behalf of their companions, he quietly summarizes what he can tell is happening behind the scenes. "Most all of it is mental," truly the worst kind of torture! And I'm not going to describe it to you. "They're not happy thoughts." Let's leave it at that. "Physically," his features twist with confusion as he makes the assessment, "it seems to be only making him… thirsty?" It was imagined that the accompanying potion would have had a much more life-threatening physical effect.
But the headmaster's desire for a refreshing drink of pure water (the image craved in his head) is the only physiological aspect that seems to have changed. It does make it easier for Harry to continue coaxing the potion into him. Odd as it might be, perhaps that was its purpose in the first place – to promote his death by insanity… causing him to think he's responsible for doing to someone else what the potion is doing to him. Wince. "Please, please, please, no… not that, not that, I'll do anything…" the grandwizard pleads. Either way, it never gets any easier to watch.
Somewhere along the way, Edward's silent singing smoothly comes to a stop… and Bella notices. The comforting airflow of his breath had been caressing her ear, and now it's gone. Turning to look, she sees that though he still rocks her gently as he continues to watch her – his features no longer betray his misery at their plight, replaced instead with a cool detachment. It doesn't seem that he's under attack anymore, at least. He's back to himself again, and stoically exercising his practiced and impeccable control.
Even so, when after the 11th cup Dumbledore screams in anguish the plea to "KILL ME!" – Edward closes his eyes to the pain and curls Bella's face into him, so that neither of them will have to visibly observe it any longer. Simultaneously, Harry's apprehensive glance in the vampire's direction, filled with supreme torment about his own role in everything, is relieved by this response. At least it's not looking any worse for the lot of us.
A/N: Sorry for the late update. Thanks for reading and sharing!
FYI: This is as far as this storyette is currently publish-ready - sigh - so I expect we'll be seeing the beginning of another one next post.