It all came apart at the seams one otherwise uneventful night.
And Adrian, deep in slumber, did not even know of it until there sounded a firm thumping at his bedroom door. He awoke suddenly to the noise, a tad disoriented in the darkness. Then the time of the night and the loud knocks on his door registered through the haze of sleep, and he bolted out of bed.
"Adrian!" Madam Pucey called from beyond the door.
Grabbing his wand from the bedside and not bothering to change into a more appropriate set of robes, Adrian rushed to the door. He yanked it open, his wand at the ready. "What's wrong?"
Madam Pucey, her age showing under the dim light or perhaps under the stress, reached for his wand hand. "Forgive me, there's no easy way for me to break this to you," she said, her tone calm and even. "The Dark Mark was seen at Hogwarts."
Adrian took in a sharp breath.
Madam Pucey gripped his hand tighter. "Albus Dumbledore is dead." she added, somehow softer.
He felt his stomach drop to his feet. He had seen, talked to the Headmaster mere hours ago. "Ty-"
"There are no other casualties," she cut in. "That we know of anyway," she added, twisting her lips slightly.
Adrian wiped at his face with his hand, looked away. The great Albus Dumbledore. Dead. What it did mean for the rest of them? For the school? Hogwarts was meant to safe. It was supposed to be a veritable fortress. He exhaled harshly. "How – what happened? What do we know?" he asked.
"A group of… You-Know-Who's supporters broke into the school. We are not yet certain how," she said, grim. "It seemed their sole target was Dumbledore. A couple of students were apparently caught in the crossfire, but fortunately all of them made it out with their lives."
A couple of students? Surely, that meant Harry bloody Potter. And likely, that meant Hermione.
"And how did the Headmaster fall?" he asked carefully. How did he fall indeed? Wasn't he meant to be among the greatest wizards of his generation? Hadn't he faced the great Gellert Grindelwald himself and emerged the victor? How did he fall to a couple of Death Eaters?
Madam Pucey shook her head lightly. "That remains unclear." She gave his hand a firm squeeze then and let go, took a step back. "I need to go to the Ministry. I want you to watch the house."
He whipped his head back in her direction. "What about the school? We need to get Ty home at once."
She massaged her temples, fatigue evident in her action. "I am making enquiries, of course, but I believe they – the attackers - accomplished what they set out to do," she said darkly. "They will not strike again tonight."
Adrian pressed his lips together tightly, her certainty rankling him.
"I'd like you to stay by the floo, please," she instructed. "You may take the calls, but do not let anyone through. Not tonight."
Not even Augustus? He wanted to ask. He clenched his jaw instead, and acquiesced dutifully. "As you wish, mother."
"Get dressed. I'll see you downstairs in a while," she said, started walking away.
Adrian retreated to his bathroom. Though he did not need another wake up call, he washed his face anyway. He glanced at the mirror in front of him, looked away hastily from his own dark eyes.
War. They were at war. Another funeral was inevitable, really.
Wiping his face dry, he then changed into a different set of robes, headed out of his room.
Madam Pucey took the floo to the Ministry.
And Adrian settled himself at a couch, waiting. After several long minutes of nothing but staring into the fire, he considered checking on their wards. But then the floo started to flare to life.
Yes, they heard the news. Yes, the news was tragically true. No, Tiberius was still at the school. Yes, Madam Pucey was at the Ministry.
At some point, Terrence called in. And Adrian was so relieved to hear his voice that he immediately invited him over, ignoring Madam Pucey's words of caution. Cups of tea in hand, they sat in mutual silence, save for Adrian answering the floo.
Healer Patil called in to confirm that his affairs were indeed settled. Adrian assured him that he and his family could portkey to India the very next morning.
Adrian spent the entire time dreading that Augustus might call, or worse, drop by in person. Mercifully, Augustus did not do either.
Terrence left after his third cup of tea.
Adrian started on his fourth, even though he wanted something stronger.
The world was in limbo.
There was nothing to be done that night.
Madam Pucey eventually arrived back home.
And Adrian returned to his room. Sleep came begrudgingly, but rest did not.
It was a fine summer day. Bright sunshine filtered through the white, fluffy clouds that peppered the warm, blue sky. A gentle breeze danced its way through the refreshing air, through the branches and leaves of the trees that stood proud. The animals pranced, the birds sung in welcome. It was Quidditch weather, it was life asking one to take the day off.
And it stood in stark opposition to what one might have expected on the day of Albus Dumbledore's funeral.
Adrian apparated to Hogsmeade, to that wonderful Scottish weather that never seemed to show its face when one needed it. The village was visibly crowded, people continuously apparated in, flooed in. The shops in the village did not open their doors for anyone.
He took a moment to observe the gloomy visage of the Hogwarts castle in the distance. Then, he started making his way towards it. There were Thestral-drawn carriages lined up by the station, but he bypassed them without a second glance, covered the distance to up to the castle on foot.
Guards in uniform robes guarded the entrance gates, and were indeed spread about the school, watching the perimeter and the attendees.
A sizeable crowd was forming at the school, was already formed in Hogsmeade. Adrian recognized several of them, but chose to give everyone a wide berth. Many more, he did not recognize. It was the oddest gathering of people – people from all walks of life, from all over the country and even beyond were gathered to pay their respects to the departed Headmaster.
He settled in waiting at a castle courtyard, looking out to the lake where it seemed the rites would take place.
The students, lead by the Heads of their Houses, filed out of the castle first. A large, slow-moving mass of shuffling feet and minimal conversations. The remainder of the staff trailed behind them, followed at last by the delegation from the Ministry.
Adrian slipped to Madam Pucey's side, offered her his arm, nodding in polite acknowledgement to those who glanced his away. They walked in complete silence towards the lake. As they neared the seats, Madam Pucey gently squeezed his arm, let go. He stepped aside, remained in the rear while the Ministry delegation continued towards the marble dais up front. Once they were seated, the ceremony official got up to his feet.
And the funeral was underway.
No man is an island, entire of itself;
With the merpeople's song haunting his ears, Adrian followed Hagrid with his eyes as he carried the body of the late Albus Dumbledore up the row between the seats. The moment the body was placed upon the marble dais, he looked away.
Each is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
At his position in the back of the crowd, the official's words seemed to become a distant echo. His eyes drifted to the people, instead. To Madam Pucey, formal and sombre, at the front row. To Tiberius, lips pressed together tightly and eyes locked on the official, in the middle. To Hermione, repeatedly wiping away at the tears rolling down her cheeks, all the way at the back.
If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less;
It was another funeral on the list. And yet, it wasn't just a funeral. Albus Dumbledore, the great Albus Dumbledore, was dead. What would become of the school? What would become of the motley group of people crying at his funeral?
As well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thine own, or of thy friend's were;
Thanks to Snape, if the whispers were true that was, the scales of the war suddenly seemed to have tipped over.
Each man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind;
Headmaster Dumbledore's body was placed inside a white tomb to become the first, the only grave at Hogwarts.
Therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls;
Adrian looked down to his hands, twisted the signet ring on the little finger of his left hand. Once, so that it faced him. Twice, so that it faced the world once more. And he looked again towards Hermione.
It tolls for thee.
Exhaling deeply, then, Adrian pushed himself up off his seat, started walking towards Tiberius.
The bulk that was Siren was noticeable in Tiberius's pockets. Adrian did not mention it because Tiberius looked completely drained. He silently put his arm around his shoulders, ushered him away from the dispersing crowd and all the way up to a castle courtyard.
"You're all packed?" he asked, his tone all business.
"Yes," Tiberius replied softly.
"Have you spoken to mother?" he asked.
"… No. I… no," he replied.
Adrian glanced sideways to him, frowned lightly. "I'll apparate us home when you're ready to leave."
"Okay," he accepted without protest.
Deciding not to push him right then, Adrian allowed his eyes to drift away. And they landed on Hermione, walking up to the castle with Potter and Weasley. There was about an hour until the time when the Hogwarts Express was due to depart from Hogsmeade station. Hermione's eyes met his, and he knew it was an hour too short.
"I'll get my luggage," Tiberius mumbled, looking briefly at Hermione, then turning back to the castle, starting towards it.
Adrian bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from stopping him. Because he wanted, needed to see Hermione.
She split from Potter and Weasley at the edge of the courtyard, the two giving Adrian a brief glance before they silently continued into the castle. And Hermione walked slowly, carefully towards Adrian. She stopped inches away from him, fidgeted where she stood, the remnants of a bad crying episode evident on her grieving face.
Adrian pressed his lips together, threw a brief glance around them. He reached for her hand then, intertwined their fingers, tugged her with him into the castle. Wordlessly, he lead them to an empty classroom, pushed the door close behind them.
With the world shut away from them, Hermione quickly wiped at her face, scrunched up her face in an effort not to break down again.
He frowned lightly, stepped closer to her, pulled her towards him.
And then she clutched desperately at the front of his robes, taking small gasping breaths as she attempted to stifle her tears.
Feeling woefully inadequate at offering comfort, he firmly pressed her to his chest, gently stroked her hair until she calmed down. When she finally grew quiet, he pulled back slightly to look down at her face.
Sensing his gaze on her, she looked up at him, gave him a feeble smile when their eyes met, then looked down to his chest again, started tracing nonsensical patterns on his robes with a finger. "Are you staying in Hogsmeade?" she asked finally.
"No," Adrian replied, taking care to match her soft tone. "I apparated in for the day."
"Hm," she acknowledged distractedly. "I saw your mum."
"She's with the Ministry," he confirmed.
"Hm."
He gently stilled her distracted drawing by catching her hand in his. "Are you taking the train back to London?"
"Mhm," she confirmed.
"And your parents will be there at King's Cross?" he asked.
"Mhm," she said. "They're talking about closing the school," she added, her voice smaller, tighter.
"… Briefly, perhaps," he replied. Hogwarts, as an institute, was beyond the war. It had to be because there were too many Wizarding children for the school to simply close for good. Muggle-borns, on the other hand… "Have you had a chance to write to your parents? About everything?"
Hermione winced slightly. "No. No, I – I'm going to have to tell them in person."
That certainly wouldn't be a pleasant conversation. "I-" A feeling of inadequacy started to creep up on him. "I need to see Tiberius home. But I want…" He brushed her hair away from her face, noting with distant fascination how her curls wrapped keenly around his little finger over his ring. He carefully tucked the lock of hair behind her ear, extracted his fingers free, gently urged her chin up so he could look her in the eyes. "I'll see you soon, all right? I will see you soon."
Her eyes, starting to well up with tears again, stayed briefly locked with this and then lowered down again. "All right," she murmured, pressed her face into his chest, pressed herself closer to him. "All right."
Adrian had been holding on, rather optimistically for himself, to the hope that the little peace in their world would last a good while longer. That the calm before the inevitable storm would last them another entire year, at least. A year for Hermione to complete her N.E. . A year until Tiberius came of age. It was a good thing, really, that he wasn't too much of an optimist. If his plans needed to put into action sooner rather than later, so be it.
Hermione left for Gryffindor tower shortly afterwards, wiping at her blotched and teary face as she started to retreat. Crying a little again when he caught her hand to briefly halt her, and said softly, earnestly, "I will come for you, Hermione." Crying a little harder when he pressed his lips to her brow, firmly promised, "I will see you soon."
Adrian reunited with Tiberius back in the courtyard, lead them out of the school in silence, offered his arm for side-along apparition.
"I want to see father," Tiberius said suddenly, his tone resolute and his eyes locked far away, his hand not reaching for Adrian's arm.
Adrian turned his gaze sideways to look cautiously at him. "Mother wants us to go this weekend."
"I want to go now," he maintained steadfastly, did not look at him, clenched his fists.
Adrian pressed his lips together, grabbed Tiberius's arm himself, apparated them away without warning.
Stumbling in his step when they landed, Tiberius glared hurtfully at him for the abruptness of the apparition.
Paying him no heed, Adrian waved his wand at Tiberius's trunk, ordered it to hover along with him. "You weren't raised in a barn, Ty. Smooth your hair down before father has to see the state of you," he said, started into the graveyard without waiting for a reply.
Tiberius hurriedly, roughly ran his fingers through his hair, then ran after Adrian to catch up to him.
Adrian glanced sideways at him, reached a hand towards his head. "You need a haircut."
Tiberius shifted away from his reach, scowled at him. "Your hair is longer."
"And it's tied neatly," he pointed out. "You're getting a haircut."
Tiberius huffed, did not reply, reached up to brush at his hair again, more carefully that time, as Mr Pucey's gravestone came into sight.
o - o - o - o - o
AN: For Whom the Bell Tolls is a John Donne poem.