Chapter Eleven

As me and Albus sat down together on the couch again, the book opened on his lap, I did not really know what to think or say. Well, there was a slight feeling of triumph, of course- we'd found our man, we even knew what he had to do with Anne- but at the same time, there was a strange feeling of emptiness as well.

After all, we'd assumed that we'd know what to do if only we knew his name- but on that very moment, as he read out loud the name of the man, I realized we had been deceiving ourselves. There was nothing "to do" for us now. All we knew were the names, and histories, of the two people we both saw in our dreams- of the people of whom we were- did I dare to say it?- the reincarnations, perhaps.

Truth be told, I hated and still hate that word, "reincarnations", but just the way I have always tried to accept the inevitable, I accepted that as a truth as well. It was the utter truth after all- I knew it.

But it did not help us. It did not help us, and all of a sudden I could not but feel useless, useless and rather ridiculous as well.

What had we expected to find? Our very own personal mystery, ready to solve and- oh yes please- some clear instructions as to how to solve it as well?

I had- and have- never regarded neither me nor Albus as stupid, but on that moment I honestly thought we were idiots. Like two little children on a treasure hunt, we had never stopped our quest for a moment- to wonder, for example, what the use was of our searching.

And here we sat now, with two names and a lot of history- yet no answers. Albus's blue eyes betrayed the same sort of thoughts- and I felt I had to say at least something.

"Mark Smeaton- what exactly happened to him, Albus? Do you know?"

It was a useless question, of course, and merely another sort of the self-deceit I had almost gradually got used to- and yet I listened to Albus as he explained.

"He was a court musician, Minerva- he played the lute, and he sang. He was no courtier, but was accused of adultery with the Queen anyway. He was tortured until he admitted guilt, but later on denied his confession. He was executed with Anne, I believe- hung, drawn and quartered."

I felt Albus's shoulder slightly shiver under my head, and looked up to him, only to see an uncharacteristic fear in his eyes. A deep compassion filled me as I threw my arms round his neck. I knew he must have some memories of that horrible death of his, and pressed my face against his cheek in an attempt to soothe him.

"That's so horrible, Albus… I wished- I could-"

As he gently released himself frommy embrace, though, his blue eyes were twinkling again, and slowly he shook his head.

"You can't change it, my dear, and nor can I. So let us not worry about it- there is no future in the past."

No future in the past?

I could not but wonder…