Chapter 4. After the Bout
Les morts ne sont jamais vraiment loin de nous. Ils sont toujours là et nous murmurent des mots que nous ne pouvons pas entendre. Mais, parfois, ils réussissent à nous parler, si toutefois ils peuvent trouver quelqu'un qui veuille bien les accueillir.
("Souvenez-vous de moi" by C. Pike)
The dead never truly depart from us. They are always near, whispering words to us that we are not able to hear. Yet, sometimes they do manage to talk to us, provided they have succeed in finding someone who can hear them.
"What. Is. That?"
"I am trying to brew the Healing Potion. I found the instructions in a textbook," Albus replied, a tad shyly, looking up from the bubbling cauldron.
"This? The Healing Potion?"
The boy sighed heavily, shrugging his shoulders:
"Not even close?"
"You call this a potion in Slughorn's lair…," the cauldron turned instantly empty, although Al had not seen so much as a wave of the wand.
"Uncle Severus, it is possible to heal Robert Conde's wound, isn't it?" The boy climbed onto his barrel, staring at the ever-grumpy wizard, who was stood by the white wall, arm crossed. "There is such a potion, I know there is!"
"The little vampire is regretting what he'd done, is he?"
"You know nothing about him," Al said, a little put out by Uncle Severus's obvious dislike of the new Hogwarts student.
"And you've already dug deep, haven't you? Didn't your father explain to you that…"
"Oh, come on, Uncle Severus, not you, too," Albus asked, tiredly. "Robert told me himself. Because the rumors that are flying around about him have nothing on what's really happened. The Aurors did not murder his father."
"As if there was ever any doubt… The vampire's son grabbed a bunch of garlic and a cross? Or simply ripped Daddy apart?"
"He was not aware of what he was doing."
"A naïve boy," Snape scoffed.
"We all make mistakes," Albus remarked, almost smiling. "Once, I got angry and blasted Auntie Fleur's favourite china set."
"A valid comparison, indeed," Snape replied sarcastically.
"Well, look at it this way: his father murdered his mother. What was her fault in that? Only that she had blood in her body that his father wanted to drink…" Albus began to reason, dangling his feet in the air. "And Robert was merely protecting himself, not wanting to become the vampire's next meal. It is not his fault that he overdid it. Besides, this was a child's magic got out of control, happens to all of us. Is this the reason for him to be stuck with that awful scar for life?"
Severus Snape remained quiet, still staring mockingly at Albus.
"Fine. I will ask Grandpa Dumbledore; he, at least, will get me," Albus gave up, looking about him. "Where is he, by the way?"
"How do I know? Probably setting up the chessboard."
"Do you two play chess while I sleep?" the boy jumped off the barrel, surprised.
"Don't get me mixed up in this," Snape asked, watching Al. "The last time I checked, this was your dream."
"Meaning?" Potter mused. "Can I simply call him, and he will come?"
Uncle Severus didn't respond – he always did that when the answer was too obvious.
"All right… Grandpa Albus, I need you; it is urgent," the boy declared and looked around him expectantly: nothing happened. "Did I do something wrong?"
"We are no rabbits to jump out of a hat with the snap of a finger," Severus Snape remarked, continuing to stand still.
"You are nothing like a rabbit, Uncle Severus," Albus laughed, walking over to the older man and looking up at him. "More like an old raven, always grumpy about his life."
"Life?" Snape nearly growled, his eyes narrowed. "I have been lying in my grave for nearly thirty years, and some whipper-snapper just won't let me be! Him and an old man, still bent on deciding the fate of the world…"
"If you didn't want to, Severus, you'd never come here," a soft voice said behind Al.
"Grandpa!" the boy jumped up in surprise and ran over to the old wizard sat on a barrel. Their eyes behind half-moon spectacles twinkled almost identically. "You came!"
"You called me, did you not?"
"I always call you, and you always come," Albus reached out his hand to Dumbledore with a lemon drop lying on his palm. "Is this the secret then? It is not you who come to me, is it? It is me summoning you…"
The old wizard smiled into his beard, unwrapping the lemon drop.
"Why didn't you tell me before?" Albus inquired seriously, thoughtfully scratching his neck.
"Everything comes with time… And goes likewise…" Dumbledore remarked, still smiling. "Our desires sometimes become the source of our suffering."
"That means that… I can call those… who are no longer alive?" the boy asked in near whisper, looking into the wizard's twinkling eyes.
Al heard Uncle Severus stir behind him. He must be staring intently at Grandpa Albus, but the old wizard's reply was so important to the boy that he did not turn around.
"Yes, you can."
"I alone?" Albus clarified.
"You brother and sister have that ability, too, but it's much less pronounced," Dumbledore said pensively, looking his little namesake straight in the eye. "The name magic must have strengthened your link with the dead. This, of course is but a theory of mine…"
"But why are we able to do it?" Albus asked the question that was now uppermost in his mind.
"Again, this is only my theory," Grandpa Dumbledore said carefully, handing the boy a lemon drop. "But since you father was once dead, he may have laid a bridge of sorts between you and us… and the bridge remained, to be inherited by you."
"So, if I should want to see someone… like you… then… she will come?" Dumbledore nodded. "But when I asked you before to bring her, you said that…"
"Our desires sometimes become the source of our suffering," the old wizard repeated. "There is the right time for everything."
"And now you think that I am ready?" Albus asked, almost angry. "Four years!"
"That's what you get for telling Potters the truth," Snape remarked sarcastically, leaning against the wall again. Albus' anger dissipated as quickly as it flared up.
"Mummy…," he whispered, taking a deep breath. "Mum… Mummy!"
Nothing happened, and the boy's temper began to rise again, when Grandpa Albus' eyes shifted to something behind his back. Albus whirled around and froze, staring at his transformed dream.
Instead of the fourth wall, he saw a long white staircase that descended to the smooth yellow-sand beach, with waves tripping over it. The stairs were littered with strange but familiar items: chocolate frog wrappers, hand-knitted scarves, colourful books, hot-pad mittens, candy wrappers…
Standing on the last step was she – just as he vaguely remembered her. She was barefoot, dressed in a sun-coloured dress; her fiery hair – just like Lily's – was blowing in the wind, the hem of her dress wrapping around her knees. In her hand was a basket, like those they used to pack for picnics.
"Mummy," Albus smiled and ran down the steps, nearing her with each step. Finally, he stopped and looked into her smiling face; tears glistened in her kind eyes.
He stared at her, trying to understand when it was that he'd forgotten her. What was the moment when his child's memory had begun to erase her features, leaving behind only the warm, beloved image of her: warm hands, the smell of chocolate cake, the sound of tender voice? This was what Grandpa Albus was talking about: this is what he'd been waiting for, before revealing the boy's abilities to him. He'd waited for Al's memory to wash away, as if by a magical wave, the vivid recollections of his mother that were irretrievably linked to a child's pain and confusion.
Yes, he'd forgotten. He even forgot that terrible day, filled with serenity and grief, when Grandfather Arthur carried him in his arms, because his father was no longer able to. He only remembered the echo of that terrible wave – it was now gone.
And now, looking at his smiling mother who was gazing at him, he recalled her – just like this, close, in a yellow dress, a picnic basket in her hands. She was alive…
"Forgive me for forgetting you," the boy whispered, timidly reaching out his hand, to touch hers.
"If you'd truly forgotten me, you would not have called for me," she said softly, and he smiled, remembering this voice that had sung to him Odo-the-hero song and read fairy tales about gnome adventures. "You look so much like your father…"
Albus shrugged his shoulders, still adjusting to the sense of déjà vu that gripped him, then took the last step toward his mother and threw his arms around her, pressing his face to her belly. Her hand was tenderly stroking his hair.
"Shall we go?" she drew back and reached out her hand, which he squeezed, smiling. They slowly walked on the sand along the shore. Al had discarded his cloak, socks, and shoes and was now enjoying the feel of hot sand between his toes.
They were silent, smiling at one another, until Ginny stopped, to spread a tartan down on the sand. He sat down, watching her fetch sandwiches, a tin of cookies, juice, and a packet of lemon drops and chocolate frogs from the basket. She sat down on the tartan, tucking her tanned legs under her, and her eyes rested on his face, delightedly.
"Mum…"
"Yes, Albus?"
He fell silent, in search of the right words in the surrounding quiet. It was strange that neither wind nor waves made any noise.
"Are you real? Well, like Grandpa Albus and Uncle Severus? Or is this merely a dream?"
"This is a dream, Al," she smiled, "but I am just as real as your two Headmaster friends."
"So, these whole four years you could have been visiting me? Only I didn't think to call for you?" the boy blurted, upset, moving closer to Ginny.
"I did come, only you didn't see me…"
"I didn't?"
"Because you didn't call for me," Ginny explained, smoothing his disheveled hair.
"Mummy…"
"Yes?"
"We are all missing you so much."
"I know, darling…"
"How?"
"When you think about me, I wake up."
"You do?"
"When we leave you, we go to sleep, but every time someone recalls us, mentions us – even to themselves – we wake up. And then we can come to you and talk with you. Although most times you cannot see or hear us."
"But you do…"
"Always. And as long as you remember me, as long as you think about me, the eternal sleep shall not claim me," Ginny adjusted his tie and smoothed his hair once again.
"Daddy thinks of you often… and talks to you."
"I know that, and he is very worried about you," Al's mother opened the packet of candy, laying it next to the boy. "He fears that he is not a good enough father to you. He worries about you."
"And you?"
"Like any mother does," she shrugged her shoulders, smiling. "You are growing too fast; you can do too much… You will become a great wizard."
"Is that bad?"
"Do you know a single great wizard who lived a long and happy life?" Ginny asked carefully.
Albus wanted to respond but remained silent.
"You are amazing, Al; that is why Daddy fears for you."
"Why am I amazing? Because I can do things others cannot?"
"Well, why do some people make wondrous discoveries while others lead hum-drum lives? Why do some build schools and others destroy them?" Al's mother was smiling softly. "What determines who you are born and what you become?"
"Mum and dad," Albus snorted, making Ginny laugh. "And the name…"
"Perhaps," she shrugged her shoulders. "The main thing is for you not to forget that you are our child."
"I remember…"
"And to learn to value reality more than the dreamworld."
Al pondered, remembering Dumbledore's words.
"So, that is why Grandpa Albus never told me that I could see you. He was afraid that I would decide to remain in the dreamworld forever, because I could not be with you in the real world."
"You needed to forget me and your pain in order to see me again. Because now you'll be able to wake up."
"But I can call you again, can't I?"
"Whenever you wish."
"Mum… Does this mean that I can summon anyone I want?" Albus inquired cautiously, frantically thinking whom he'd like to see.
"Anyone? Hardly…"
"If I were to call Salazar Slytherin, he would not appear, would he?" Al laughed, actually understanding the reason. "Because he is not connected to me."
"No, he won't, and that is for the best."
"Why?"
"He's been waiting and wishing for oblivion and eternal sleep for too long, and haven't had either, because someone says his name every day."
"The poor devil," Al sympathized. "But he is not alone, right? He's together with Gryffindor, isn't he?"
"I don't know, maybe."
"Mummy, and you… You are not alone, are you?" the boy asked, alarmed.
"No, of course not, my darling," she smiled. "I am always near you… And Grandma Molly, and Uncle Fred… All whom you remember."
"How are they doing?
"We are all awake – which is the best thing to happen to those who'd taken their last sleep," Al's mother said, and he laughed – so much her words sounded like something Grandpa Dumbledore would say.
"You just wait a couple of centuries, and you will think like Slytherin," the boy smirked, mentally apologizing to the old wizard for disturbing him again.
"In a couple of centuries, all of us will be sleeping peacefully. Except you and your father, perhaps."
"Yes, we need to get Dad prepared," Albus laughed again.
His mum also smiled, and then looked at the water beating against the shore nearby.
"It is time," the boy guessed.
"I want to see the others. They've had a rough few days."
"Mum…"
"Yes?"
"May I come along?"
She paused, pondering, then nodded. They rose to their feet, and Ginny took Al's hand and led him along the beach.
"Oh…," Al stopped when instead of sand, his feet touched grass. He looked up and saw the moonlit green forest, cold dark water in the distance, the clearing where his mother was walking softly. "Oh…"
He saw James sitting on the ground. His brother wore pajama bottoms, his hair in more disarray than usual and, unexpectedly, with a book in his lap.
"And what are we reading?" Al asked curiously, walking over to his brother (nearly stepping on a pink hedgehog hurriedly crossing the clearing) and his mother who's sat down next to him. It was obvious that James was not aware of their presence. "Wow… 'Tutorial for a future father-magus: how to raise a worthy wizard'."
"He is very anxious of not being a good father," his mother remarked with a smile, gazing tenderly at James.
"He's not hearing or seeing us, is he?"
"No," Ginny said, almost regretfully. "In him, the dreamworld and the realm of the dead, with which he speaks unwittingly, are very tightly coupled. Whereas you separate them quite easily."
Albus followed his mother's gaze, and only now spotted the animals lying on the distant slope.
"They are seeing us, aren't they?" the boy guessed, and strode towards the four noble animals resting on the grass.
Strange, but although he saw them for the first time, he knew exactly who they were. Perhaps, because they were in James's sleep, and his brother knew his guests well.
"Grandpa, you have a thorn on your neck," Al slowly approached the handsome stag. The brown eyes almost smiled, the noble head bowed, as if in gratitude. "Grandma, you know, I have your eyes. And everyone says they are like Dad's…"
The doe shifted closer, letting the boy pat her face. Al shifted his gaze to the jolly dog and a calm wolf who were watching them.
"Forgive me, Mr. Black, but I am afraid of dogs," Albus said politely, "and wolves, too, for that matter."
The dog snorted, still wagging his tail.
"You know that Teddy has a son named Sirius Lupin, isn't that brilliant?"
The dog seemed to be laughing, falling onto his side and rolling on the grass.
"Al," his mother called.
"Gotta go," the boy stroked the doe's back. "See ya later!"
He ran over to Ginny, about to ask why they had to leave, when he saw Xenia appearing in James's dream. Yes, it was time to leave, indeed…
"Can I still stay with you?" Al inquired timidly, taking his mum's hand.
"As long as you want…"
"Where are we off to now?"
She made no reply, as they were already crossing the tree line and found themselves in the room very familiar to Albus. "The Burrow" was quiet, sunlight beating against the windows, water noise and clanging of pots and pans coming from the kitchen.
"Mummy?" Albus was instantly frightened, no longer feeling her hand pressing his.
"I am here."
His eyes widened in surprise at seeing them: four teenagers, sitting in the living room. Al recognized his father easily. Harry Potter was sat on the floor, reading a Quidditch magazine, leaning against the knees of a pretty red-head girl with a notebook and a quill. The girl was smiling, looking directly at Albus.
"Mum?"
She nodded:
"This is Uncle Ron's dream," she whispered, nodding at the lanky, gangly redhead chap who was sat on the arm of the chair next to another girl, easily recognizable as Hermione.
"What are you doing?" Al walked around the couch, to peer into Ginny Weasley's notebook.
"Sketching a Hungarian Horntail," she smiled, showing him the drawing. "Like it?"
"I love dragons. And drawing them, too. I am thinking of becoming an artist…"
"Will you be painting portraits?" Ginny asked in surprise, still working on her drawing.
"Well, someone has to," Al admitted, watching Uncle Ron gingerly tuck away locks of hair that had escaped from Hermione's hair clip. Then he glanced at the window and only now realized that the sunlight had changed to moonlight. Silhouettes were visible in the garden – either dogs or wolves; piano sounded in the background. Al flinched, not knowing why…
"Mummy…"
"Yes?"
"Let's go visit Lily's dreams."
"We cannot," Ginny responded promptly, her eyes trained on her drawing.
"Why?"
"Because she is not sleeping."
"Hmmm, I went to bed after midnight," Albus mused out loud, but did not dwell on the mystery of his sister's insomnia. She must have her reasons. "Where now?" He did not want to interrupt this adventure, and especially not to part from his mother so soon.
"Let's go," she appeared next to him, taking his hand again. The wolf howling outside the Burrow's window grew louder. But the Weasley dwelling dematerialized with their first step, and Albus squeezed his eyes shut against the bright light that hit his face.
Blinding light, warming his face and hands.
"Dad," Albus guessed; more than once, he'd sneaked into his father's mind and seen the echoes of Harry Potter's light. "That's why he does not dream, right, mum?"
"Yes. The light blocks his vision," Al's mother slowly walked in the rays of the sun; he could barely discern her form amidst this ocean of light. Strangely, she was now wearing a white dress instead of yellow and looked a little different. "He thinks that I am never in his dreams. In reality, he simply does not see me – or the others, for that matter, which might be for the best…"
"Healing light," Al whispered, watching the shadows and shapes moving around him, almost invisible in the light. Then he discerned voices. The most familiar was his father's: he was talking to her, to Al's mother, but the boy could not understand what was said.
Al saw his mother sit down, her eye's half-closed: she seemed to be listening to his father. He stepped back.
"I love you, Mummy," the boy whispered.
As soon as her hand released his, he sat upright on his bed in the Gryffindor bedroom. First rays of the morning sun fell on his face. He jumped off the bed and walked over to the window, smiling.
"Good morning, Mummy… Good morning, Grandma Molly and Uncle Fred… Good morning, Grandpa James and Grandma Lily… Ah, yes… Good day, Professor Slytherin," he smiled, climbing onto the windowsill. He silently watched the nearly orange sphere rise above the trees of the Forbidden Forest.
The sun rose over the world of the living, throwing a new challenge to the night, as it retreated into the gloom.
We don't get to pick which bouts to start.
While gliding down the blade of an allotted fate,
The outcome is all we can dictate –
Smash icy shards or let them steel the heart…
While gliding down the blade of an allotted fate,
We're playing hide-and-seek with deadly void:
To look her in the eye? Or run and, thus, avoid
Remembering who you'd been and are to-date?
The outcome is all we can dictate,
By cherishing the warmth of silver snow:
Pick up the gauntlet; face – not dodge – a blow;
And be steadfast as you face down the fate.
Smash icy shards or let them steel the heart,
Sweep flames and ice aside as you press on,
Fight – so you find your forest thereupon –
Hence seeing through the bouts we had to start…