Reflections of an Old Man's Mistakes
It was a clear and cold afternoon, as the days of early September often are. Gazing out of the window I could see the grounds below in autumn splendor. The forbidden forest was a sea of golds and reds and oranges; the lake seeped up and down the shore as the waters tumbled in a fall breeze. Hagrid was busy marching across the grounds, looking for problems in the boats and getting ready for the arrival of the train.
Though the sight was warming to my heart the wind was quite the opposite and I was forced to retreat to my desk.
My office was quite warm compared to the world outside the castle; I was almost roasting to tell you the truth. Just one of the many woes of the old; you're never quite the right temperature. I had defeated dark wizards, taught magic and knew more spells than most wizards on Earth, yet I still was unable to sit down in a properly heated room.
I sat down behind my desk and looked over my office. All the trinkets and instruments from a long lifetime of collection stood polished and organized, all the paintings of great wizards come and gone sat snoozing in their portraits, and Fawkes was perched upon one of my many bookcases, enjoying casing some bugs around the shelves.
Sitting down can have a strange effect on aged bones and I quickly found myself being drawn into a nap like the rest of the headmasters around me.
Now I am partial to the odd nap and find them rather restful, but today the sleep was restless and worrisome. Too many things were floating about my mind, in truth it was more cluttered than my office. Things were continuously crossing my mind; old friends, old loves, old enemies, and a boy; his image more than any other lingered within my head.
Harry Potter, the boy who lived. I almost snorted at that thought. He was a boy yes, but what life was he ever allowed; what freedoms was he ever given? He had no one to love, no fond memories of early youth, and now, no one even like a parent to look up to.
Sirius had been the last one Harry had. True he had Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley, but they didn't quite understand, though try they might. They had been surrounded by those who love and care for them since they were born; they had been brought up by a kind and loving family; they had known their parents.
But Harry would never know his parents, Sirius had been the closest thing to a father he had ever known. But now he too was beyond Harry. He too had left Harry alone. He too had traveled beyond the veil, where eventually we must all go.
It should have been me I began to think in my weary slumber. Sirius should still be here and I should be gone. Sirius had been Harry's Godfather, but what had I done? I had taken him from a world of those closest to his parents and thrust him into ten years of horror at the hands of the Dursleys. It had been I who continuously sent him to their home though he would rather be anywhere else on Earth. It had been I who had held back the prophesy from Harry. It was I who caused the death of Sirius Black.
We are all insignificant in the end. Harry is what matters now, for it is Harry who must risk all and lose some; Harry who must be the champion for those without one; Harry who must face the end; Harry who must defeat Voldemort.
Through my mind raced a thousand thoughts that led to one end; that Harry Potter must be the one to fight him and that no other could do it for him. He was still a child. He should be out playing, and doing childish things; getting in trouble for throwing dung bombs in the corridors; he should not be losing all he has, and fighting the dark forces at the age of 16.
I let out a long sigh. Lily and James and Sirius. They were all beyond reach now. They could no longer comfort him, care for him, love him. The boy deserves better. The boy needed better.
Before they died I agreed to the same promise for all three. That if they passed on that I would help him, that I would watch him, that I would take care of him. Those promises dwell within my mind at all times. I have helped him as I can. I have tried to prepare him, I have tried to teach him; I merely hope it was enough. I have watched him too; I have done precious little else. I have watched him fight the darkness. I have watched him succeed in life, but also fail; also lose.
It was a mistake, I see now, to allow oneself to grow so old. One grows tired of living and dying. One grows tired of bearing the world upon his shoulders as I have done for many years now. I suppose it is time that it passes on. I must pass the torch onto another. I must pass it onto the youth, onto my students, onto Harry Potter. And this thought fills me with more sadness than any other.
The torch will pass, and better times will come. But I wish I were not so old and feeble to be unable to aid him any more than I have done. I have promised Lily and James and Sirius, but now I promise myself. I will care for Harry, prepare him, and make him ready for my torch, for my burden. I will see that he is ready for the end, whatever it may be. I will see that he does not face it alone. And I will see that he will live to see the day his own children become teenagers full of love and life, should it be the last thing I do; the last burden of an old man.
There was a rap at the door and I came awake, faintly aware of how cold it had become.
"Yes?" I called out.
"Albus," said Minerva, as she entered my office, "the train has arrived, the students are making their way up to the school as we speak."
"Very well then," I said as I rose to my feet. "I shall be with you in a moment."
Minerva departed leaving me once again to my thoughts. I walked to the window once more and gazed out upon Hogwarts. I could see the scarlet engine in the distance, I could hear the student's laughter, and I could swear, that I could feel the strength of a boy amongst them; a boy on whom the world rests.
It was a clear and cold afternoon, as the days of early September often are. Gazing out of the window I could see the grounds below in autumn splendor. The forbidden forest was a sea of golds and reds and oranges; the lake seeped up and down the shore as the waters tumbled in a fall breeze. Hagrid was busy marching across the grounds, looking for problems in the boats and getting ready for the arrival of the train.
Though the sight was warming to my heart the wind was quite the opposite and I was forced to retreat to my desk.
My office was quite warm compared to the world outside the castle; I was almost roasting to tell you the truth. Just one of the many woes of the old; you're never quite the right temperature. I had defeated dark wizards, taught magic and knew more spells than most wizards on Earth, yet I still was unable to sit down in a properly heated room.
I sat down behind my desk and looked over my office. All the trinkets and instruments from a long lifetime of collection stood polished and organized, all the paintings of great wizards come and gone sat snoozing in their portraits, and Fawkes was perched upon one of my many bookcases, enjoying casing some bugs around the shelves.
Sitting down can have a strange effect on aged bones and I quickly found myself being drawn into a nap like the rest of the headmasters around me.
Now I am partial to the odd nap and find them rather restful, but today the sleep was restless and worrisome. Too many things were floating about my mind, in truth it was more cluttered than my office. Things were continuously crossing my mind; old friends, old loves, old enemies, and a boy; his image more than any other lingered within my head.
Harry Potter, the boy who lived. I almost snorted at that thought. He was a boy yes, but what life was he ever allowed; what freedoms was he ever given? He had no one to love, no fond memories of early youth, and now, no one even like a parent to look up to.
Sirius had been the last one Harry had. True he had Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley, but they didn't quite understand, though try they might. They had been surrounded by those who love and care for them since they were born; they had been brought up by a kind and loving family; they had known their parents.
But Harry would never know his parents, Sirius had been the closest thing to a father he had ever known. But now he too was beyond Harry. He too had left Harry alone. He too had traveled beyond the veil, where eventually we must all go.
It should have been me I began to think in my weary slumber. Sirius should still be here and I should be gone. Sirius had been Harry's Godfather, but what had I done? I had taken him from a world of those closest to his parents and thrust him into ten years of horror at the hands of the Dursleys. It had been I who continuously sent him to their home though he would rather be anywhere else on Earth. It had been I who had held back the prophesy from Harry. It was I who caused the death of Sirius Black.
We are all insignificant in the end. Harry is what matters now, for it is Harry who must risk all and lose some; Harry who must be the champion for those without one; Harry who must face the end; Harry who must defeat Voldemort.
Through my mind raced a thousand thoughts that led to one end; that Harry Potter must be the one to fight him and that no other could do it for him. He was still a child. He should be out playing, and doing childish things; getting in trouble for throwing dung bombs in the corridors; he should not be losing all he has, and fighting the dark forces at the age of 16.
I let out a long sigh. Lily and James and Sirius. They were all beyond reach now. They could no longer comfort him, care for him, love him. The boy deserves better. The boy needed better.
Before they died I agreed to the same promise for all three. That if they passed on that I would help him, that I would watch him, that I would take care of him. Those promises dwell within my mind at all times. I have helped him as I can. I have tried to prepare him, I have tried to teach him; I merely hope it was enough. I have watched him too; I have done precious little else. I have watched him fight the darkness. I have watched him succeed in life, but also fail; also lose.
It was a mistake, I see now, to allow oneself to grow so old. One grows tired of living and dying. One grows tired of bearing the world upon his shoulders as I have done for many years now. I suppose it is time that it passes on. I must pass the torch onto another. I must pass it onto the youth, onto my students, onto Harry Potter. And this thought fills me with more sadness than any other.
The torch will pass, and better times will come. But I wish I were not so old and feeble to be unable to aid him any more than I have done. I have promised Lily and James and Sirius, but now I promise myself. I will care for Harry, prepare him, and make him ready for my torch, for my burden. I will see that he is ready for the end, whatever it may be. I will see that he does not face it alone. And I will see that he will live to see the day his own children become teenagers full of love and life, should it be the last thing I do; the last burden of an old man.
There was a rap at the door and I came awake, faintly aware of how cold it had become.
"Yes?" I called out.
"Albus," said Minerva, as she entered my office, "the train has arrived, the students are making their way up to the school as we speak."
"Very well then," I said as I rose to my feet. "I shall be with you in a moment."
Minerva departed leaving me once again to my thoughts. I walked to the window once more and gazed out upon Hogwarts. I could see the scarlet engine in the distance, I could hear the student's laughter, and I could swear, that I could feel the strength of a boy amongst them; a boy on whom the world rests.