Chapter Four

Monument to Grief

Standing on the familiar plinth that marked the entry to Albus' Space, she took in the incredible landscape he had designed. He was always making small, subtle changes and it had become a game to her to see if she could spot them. Her gaze slid across the intricate knot of colorful waterfalls, her favorite feature, but she was fairly sure the pattern had not changed. The patchwork quilt of colorful grass: the same. She still hadn't come up with a name for that completely new color in the center… But then she spotted it: The mountain ridge. Albus was feeling extra sentimental, today. The mountains' silhouette was unmistakably similar to that of Hogwarts Castle.

It wasn't much longer before Albus himself descended from his towers, landing lightly beside her on the plinth.

"Are you ready?" he asked her.

"Yes. Where are we going?"

"With any luck, we are going to go have a lovely chat with Merope Gaunt."

She raised an eyebrow. "Next, you're going to tell me who 'Merope Gaunt' is."

Albus smiled, "Tom Riddle's mother."

She felt her eyes widen. "You know how to find her?"

"The easiest path would be through her brother, Morfin, but I am skeptical that he would cooperate with us. Her father, Marvolo, and Tom Riddle senior are equally unlikely to be helpful, and getting to them would be difficult because neither of us have ever met them. Therefore, I have decided to try locating one Ms. Cole, the matron of the orphanage where Tom grew up. He was born there, and his mother died not long after. The matron told me she lost the will to live."

Lily's heart sank. She had a child to live for, hadn't she? Shouldn't that be enough?

"And how will we find her?"

"I met her when I went to the orphanage to invite Tom Riddle to attend Hogwarts. I believe I can reach her directly."

Lily nodded, and held out her arm to her old professor. "Shall we, then?"

Albus took her arm, closed his eyes, and. . . .

The transition between Spaces never ceased to amaze her, even after decades here in the Afterverse. She didn't even blink. There was no sensation of movement. No gradual fade. Her field of vision simply instantly changed from Albus' Space to another.

She found herself on a busy London street. Muggles and their cars bustled around, densely packing the roads and sidewalks. After a slow spin to take in the sights, she realized it was the London of her childhood. She remembered the cars. The clothes. The hairstyles. The very smell in the air. They had stepped back in time to the sixties.

"I've heard stories of people constructing entire simulated cities in their Spaces, but I've never personally seen it."

The voice that issued from her own mouth shocked her. It was a voice she hadn't heard for many years… one she never thought she'd hear again: The internal reverberations her 8-year-old self had always heard. And next she realized… Everyone was suddenly much taller than her. Had they been so tall a moment ago? She looked to Albus.

Albus was also glancing around the busy crowd. His clothing had changed. He was wearing a Muggle suit, fitting to the era, in a shade of brilliant purple, with a matching bowler hat… and he was suddenly even taller than usual. He looked down at her and smiled.

"Did your parents bring you to London often as a child?" he asked.

"Yes," 8-year-old Lily replied. "I remember all of this…"

She considered — just for a moment — staying as she was and inhabiting the memory. But no… they were here for a purpose. And besides… she wanted to be able to see things better. She focused her mind and saw the world begin to shrink around her as her body grew back into her adult self. James tended to make changes instantaneously, but she took a certain artistic pride in creating gradual, smooth transitions. Her clothes — moments before a beloved childhood summer dress — became the sort of flower-patterned sun dress her mother used to wear. Albus waited patiently while she finished her graceful transformation.

"But even after decades in the Afterverse, the mind has limits," Albus said, pointing. "See there? And there? The same face repeated. And there, and there? The same clothes."

Lily looked more closely and indeed Albus was correct. Numerous hustling people had identical faces, usually with different hairstyles and clothes. Altogether, there didn't seem to be more than a dozen unique examples of each. Even the automobiles lacked real variety, and all of them had the same plate number: AXA 447A. She suspected that it was the woman's own plate number from a beloved favorite.

Albus gestured down the road, and then set off at a brisk pace, matching the flow of foot traffic. Lily hurried to catch up and match pace with him as she marveled at the detailed, period-fitting buildings. Soon, Albus came to a stop, looking at a wrought-iron gate that opened in a verdant, flowery courtyard. Beyond it stood a tall stone structure, surrounded by high railings.

"It is the same building," he said.

"Tom's orphanage?" Lily asked.

Albus nodded. "Yes, except, of course, the real one was not in pristine condition."

That was the moment when Lily realized that the idyllic 1960's city around her was just that: idyllic. Everything was clean. Fastidiously, perfectly clean. It gave the city a surreal quality that she hadn't noticed because. . . . Well. . . . When had she ever seen a truly spotless city? Certainly not in London.

Suddenly, it all almost seemed cartoonish.

As they passed through the vibrant courtyard, Albus approached the front door and reached out to knock. It opened before his knuckle came close. As it swung fully open, Albus spared Lily a quizzical glance before leading her, wordlessly, into an ornate entrance hall. Looking around with great interest, Albus smiled serenely. Evidently, he felt that the automatic door was not an invitation to wander about.

"I remember you," a stern voice said from above.

Ms. Cole had chosen to appear as a woman in her seventies, sharp-featured with white hair tied up into a severe bun. She wore a plain, navy blue dress. Hands on the balcony rail, she looked down on them with what seemed to be a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

"Ms. Cole, you are looking older than when we met last."

She smiled slightly. Then gestured around.

"This was the time when we prospered most," she said.

Dumbledore nodded.

"I suppose you've come to discuss the most dangerous dark wizard in all of history and my part in raising him?"

Lily's shock was undisguised, while Albus handled it better.

"I confess I wondered if you'd even learned what little Tom Riddle became."

"Come with me," she said, gesturing up the stairs.

She led them into a long hallway that departed from the landing atop the stairs. It was so long that the walls of the hallway converged together in the distance. It seemed endless.

She stopped at the first door on the left.

"Many of the children I cared for went on to lead unhappy, brutal lives. Society was never very kind to orphans. They lived and died on the margins, and arrived here with just as little aim and purpose."

Albus nodded.

"I spent my first few years here like anyone else, I suppose. I experimented with creation. I reconnected with family and friends. As I learned more about how this place works, I got better and better at finding those I'd known.

"One day, I thought of an orphan that I had liked. That I had tried to help. But nonetheless, his anger and resentment at the unfairness of the world overcame him. He left my care to enter a life of crime. He ended up in prison after only six years, and there, in prison, was murdered by another inmate."

"You found him in his own hell," Albus said.

She nodded.

"So you know," she said. "I did find him in hell. He had quite literally imprisoned himself, in the very same prison that he died in. I entered the prison to find it deserted. Only a single cell block was populated, and each and every inmate in the cells were his murderer — dopplegangers to the last. I found him in a corner cell, alone and confused… afraid to leave."

"Most people we find like that don't even realize they are dead," Lily said.

"It took a great deal of convincing, he was very deep in delirium. But I coaxed him out, he suddenly recognized me, and I brought him back here. I decided I wanted to let him stay with me, here in the orphanage, and brought him to this very hallway. To this very door. Inside the door, to my surprise, was the very same prison cell I'd just taken him from, but it didn't remain that way for long…"

She opened the door.

Inside was a disproportionately large courtyard — too large for the spacing between the doors. Concentric squares of flowering hedges formed a maze-like garden under an open sky, with stepping stone pathways lined by blossoms of every imaginable color. She even spotted some lilies.

"You subverted his Space?" Albus asked.

Ms. Cole looked at him quizzically.

"It is possible to form a strong attachment to another soul, resulting in the connection of your Spaces. Couples usually merge their Spaces. Subversion means that his Space exists inside yours."

"That's one way of describing it," she said. "No one has been able to get into the Spaces of my charges without coming through mine, at any rate."

She led them into the maze and began walking down one of the stepping stone paths. Verdant grass bordered each stone.

"He has been growing and tending to this garden for perhaps twenty years, at least as I've perceived them. I think it's been longer for him."

As they rounded a corner, they found him. He was thin and of average height, but older than Lily expected. His face was careworn, his short-cropped hair white atop a balding head.

"He mimics my age," she said quietly as they approached. "I've never been able to decide whether it was intentional."

As they neared, he looked up from a colorful red flower that he was busy adding tiny white spots to.

"Ms. Cole!" he said. He ran to her and embraced her, but quickly released her and stumbled backward when he noticed his unfamiliar visitors.

"Who're they?" he asked cautiously.

"These are old friends of mine, James," Ms. Cole said kindly. "If you're willing, they would like to talk to you about the crime you committed in life."

His face tightened into a scowl. "No one never believed me."

She nodded and gently rested a hand on his shoulder. "They will."

James eyed them suspiciously. He hesitated, seeming to chew on his words. Finally, he quickly blurted it all out: "I hurt a lady. Broke her arm and her leg. Bloodied her up bad. But I didn't mean to do it! He made me!"

Albus nodded, understanding dawning on his face. Lily, too, suspected she understood. "A man in a mask and robe? With a short wooden stick?"

James' eyes widened. "How'd you know about that?"

"And after he pointed it at you," Albus continued, "you felt happier than you'd ever felt in your life. All you had to do to stay happy was to do whatever he told you to do."

James nodded, his eyes still as wide as if he'd seen a ghost.

"It wasn't your fault, James," Albus said kindly. "An evil wizard placed a spell on you, a spell that wizardkind considers unforgivable. He took control of you and forced you to do horrible things."

Tears welled up in the man's eyes. "It really wasn't my fault?"

Lily shook her head. "No, James. Only the most powerful wizards are able to resist that spell. You didn't stand a chance."

He turned to hide his face from them as he sobbed silently.

"Thank you, James," Ms. Cole said. "Just as I always said, it was never in your character to hurt a woman. And now you know for sure. We'll give you some time." She then silently led them out of the garden.

"I was sure you'd understand his story," she said as soon as the door closed.

"Yes," Albus said. "We call it the Imperius Curse. I will guess than this happened sometime around 1980."

She nodded. "Yes. But I've always wondered why."

Lily frowned. "Voldemort's Death Eaters were wizard supremacists. They regarded Muggles — er — non-magic people as little more than animals and toying with them as similar to game hunting. Random acts of cruelty were common during both periods that Voldemort had widespread power."

Ms. Cole closed her eyes and sighed. "I suspected it was little more than sadism."

"Such wizards are rare," Albus said. "The majority are peaceful and hold no ill will toward non-magic people, except that they fear how the non-magic world would react to knowing they exist. How did you come to suspect that James' circumstance involved something magical?"

"I didn't, not at first," she said. "I naturally assumed drugs had been involved. Either he'd been using — and wouldn't admit it — or, perhaps, some criminal had drugged him. I was not sure about his guilt, but didn't really think it mattered. He needed help.

"After getting him settled in, I began searching for others. Over the decades, I reconnected with many of my orphans, some of whom were in similar straits. Those that had no one else usually did the same thing as James and brought their Space into mine. The hallway — " She gestured down the endless corridor. "— got longer and longer. Eventually, I even began taking in lost souls who were not my former charges."

Ms. Cole opened the door again, and now an even larger court yard lay beyond, filled with huge trees bathed in moonlight. Lily's surprise must have been obvious, because she said, with a smile, "Did you think I walk all the way down that hallway to get to my charges?"

A quaint, stone hovel was visible through the trees, reminding Lily of Hagrid's hut. A large window projected firelight across the yard, casting dancing shadows of the tree trunks and window panes onto the courtyard's left wall.

Ms. Cole led them to the hovel's door and opened it to reveal a cluttered but cozy space, warmed by a roaring fire. She led them into the tiny room. The entire right wall was stacked with art supplies: Paints, brushes, canvasses, easels and more. The fireplace lay to the right, built into the same wall as the door. Across from it, a woman in faded blue, hooded robes was painting on a large canvas hung on a bare wall. It must have been four feet tall and at least eight feet wide. She was humming softly to herself as she brushed paint onto what appeared to be an Impressionist take on a doe leading her fawn through a dark city, surrounded by glaring shadows.

"Sherry," Ms. Cole said gently, laying a hand on the painter's shoulder.

Sherry turned with a start and even Albus revealed his surprise.

She was a werewolf.

Black canid eyes glared out from the hood, first at Ms. Cole and then at Lily and Albus. Her ears folded back against her skull and her teeth bared in a slight snarl.

"Who're they?" she asked through a snout that had no real business forming clear English. Her voice was completely human. Lily was reminded of watching a puppet speak.

Ms. Cole gestured to Albus with an expectant glance.

Albus introduced himself, "My name is Albus Dumbledore."

Sherry gasped, and suddenly she was a teenage girl, no older than sixteen, with red hair and pale, freckled skin, wearing black Hogwarts robes.

"Professor Dumbledore!" she gasped. "But you're so young!"

She didn't seem to know what to do with herself.

Lily dared introduce herself, "My name is Lily Potter."

The young artist looked like she might swoon. "You can't be 'Arry Potter's mum!?"

Lily nodded, smiling gently. She had become used to being a bit of a celebrity in the Afterverse.

Ms. Cole spoke: "They are here to see Merope, Sherry."

Lily gave her a sharp look, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Albus do the same. Neither of them had mentioned Merope. Sherry tilted her head in a manner than reminded Lily of a confused puppy.

"Merope doesn't talk to anyone, Ms. Cole."

"I brought them here to introduce you, because they want to know how I know so much about wizards and the Dark Lord. Can you tell them how we met?"

"I ran with 'Ugo for a while," Sherry said. Her face darkened and suddenly she was a werewolf again. It was difficult to read her emotions in that form… which was probably the point. "Before I killed 'im while turned, anyway."

Lily felt a pang in her stomach. How terrible.

"Those on the margins," Ms. Cole said, "often form unlikely connections. I discovered that three of my former orphans, like Hugo, had made friends with magic people that were similarly ostracized by their society. In two of the three cases, the friends turned out to be werewolves. Some of them had been on the Dark Lord's side."

"I told Ms. Cole all 'bout You-Know-Who," Sherry said. She hung her head. "I joined up with 'im, ol' Greyback convinced me. Ministry ain't no friend o' werewolves, 'e said. Dark Lord'll free us! Make us equal citizens! Then 'e vanished, ya know."

"I'd learned a great deal about the hidden world of witches and wizards by the time I met Sherry, here, but she was the first who knew the Dark Lord's real name."

"Saw a newspaper once, article by my ol' headmaster —" Sherry looked at Albus as she said it. "— talkin' about how You-Know-Who'd started out as a orphan named Tom Riddle."

Albus nodded, then looked to Ms. Cole. "And then you remembered…"

"I remembered a strange man in a purple suit," she said, smiling, "who came and offered a place for the strangest boy that was ever in my charge. A boy that frightened me. And it was easy to imagine little Tom Riddle, with the strange, sometimes frightening things that always happened around him, growing up to be something truly terrifying and evil."

As they turned to leave, Sherry suddenly grabbed Albus by the sleeve. She was a 16-year-old girl again, looking terrified… and guilty. "I'm sorry I joined 'im, Professor Dumbledore. Really I am!"

"I won't judge you, Sherry Mather," he said kindly. "Our society was always cruel to werewolves. By the way, your paintings are still beautiful."

As they returned to the hallway, they heard her murmuring in awe, "He remembered me… and he likes my paintings!"

As the door closed, Ms. Cole resumed her story.

"It was then that I resolved to find the woman who had died in our care. The woman who gave birth to the monster."

She opened the door again, and now a third stone courtyard was outside. Dark clouds roiled overhead, sprinkling water down from above. Barren, dead hedges surrounded a yard of dead grass and at its center stood a statue of a woman in robes, her hands pressed against her cheeks, her mouth open in a silent wail, and her eyes fixed on the sky above. At her feet lay a garden of dead, wilted flowers. Dried brown vines snaked up and around her lower body and some hung from her arms in tatters.

Albus approached the statue slowly and gently placed a hand on its face.

"I have never seen this before," Albus said.

Lily looked into the despairing stone face and realized that the streams of water flowing down its cheeks were not rain, but rather tears leaking from its open eyes.

"She turned herself to stone?" Lily wondered aloud.

Ms. Cole nodded. Her words echoed off the walls of the barren courtyard in a way that it didn't in the other, fuller, livelier Spaces.

"She has never spoken or moved that I have seen. I found her a decade ago. This barren, dreary wasteland stretched to the horizon in every direction. There were more vines, then, tangled around her body head, hanging from her arms. I began visiting her occasionally. I would tell her stories from my life, of my charges' lives, of the ways they were recovering under my care. When none of that worked, I even risked telling her what I knew of her son. For a long time, I doubted she could hear me. Then, one day, the courtyard walls and door appeared around us —"

She gestured back to the door.

"— and I discovered that it led back to the orphanage. It became clear to me that she could hear me, and that through my visits and stories she had formed an attachment to me and her Space joined with mine, like the others'. The vines have been slowly receding ever since, but she still hasn't moved at all…"

She fell silent. Albus' gaze remained fixed on the statue of Merope Gaunt. Many moments passed before Albus spoke.

"Merope," he said. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I was your son Tom's Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts and later. . . . Later I was the leader of the movement that stopped his campaign for wizard supremacy. Merope. . . . Your son needs you. In his quest for immortality, he maimed his own soul, and now reaps the reward for those transgressions. I want to help him. I want to restore him. Your son needs you."

Lily kept her eyes fixed on the stone face, as she was sure the others were. Minutes passed in silence as they waited, barely breathing, for some hint of a reply.

But she never moved… If anything, the rivulets of tears flowing down her cheeks thickened. It was hard to tell with the constant sprinkling of rain.

"I think she's afraid of him," Ms. Cole said suddenly.

Albus looked at her, his expression heavy with consideration.

"The day our Spaces connected was the day I told her that the Dark Lord had fallen for good, that her son was dead," she said. "I suspect she is frightened that he will try to find her. And that your presence here is only confirming that fear."

Albus shook his head.

"His soul is so maimed by his cruelty in life that he is in a far deeper sort of hell than even this —" He gestured to Merope. "— self-imposed torment. He is truly powerless here, unless we can find a way to restore him…"

Then Lily gasped as the ground began to shake. She scrambled to maintain her footing as thunder pounded from the sky and lightning forked across the clouds. A strong wind began to swirl around the courtyard and Lily felt her feet lifted from the ground and now she was moving, hurled like a rag-doll. Together, they crashed through the door into the orphanage hallway and slammed against the opposite door, which broke open as they tumbled into a sunlit courtyard decorated with a rainbow forest of gigantic gemstones. The terrified occupant, a plump, dark-haired woman with a thirty-something appearance, rushed over with a scream to help them up.

Across the hall, Merope's door slammed behind them with a loud thud, followed by the unmistakable clicking sound of a door lock.

Lily couldn't hold in her shock. "Of all the cheek!"

"Her fear is great," Albus said as he climbed to his feet. "Perhaps she doesn't want him restored."

Lily felt her face contort into a scowl. What kind of mother…?

Albus placed her a hand on her shoulder. "It is easy to judge, Lily. You were a devoted mother, sacrificing your life for your son. Merope's life was much more difficult than yours, and abandonment and cruelty were all she knew. We cannot blame her, not really, for abandoning her son in her despair, and not for being afraid that his wrath would be just as terrible as those of her father and brother. She is not likely wrong."

Lily nodded, feeling her expression and heart soften.

"Ms. Cole," she said. "Thank you. Thank you for taking her in. Thank you for helping us find her. Thank you for all that you do here. You are an example to us all for how we should be using our time here."

"It seems to me that you're both doing the same work I am," Ms. Cole replied. "But you've chosen a much more difficult case. I hope you are successful. I wouldn't wish the hells of the Afterverse on anyone."

Albus looked hard at the closed door.

"If he ever comes here," he said. "Do not tell him she is here. If she doesn't want him to find her, it is not our place to give her away."

Ms. Cole nodded. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore."

She saw them out with a last, gentle smile. As they came to a stop by the busy, simulated street, Lily couldn't help but feel like they hadn't really accomplished anything.

"What now?" she wondered aloud.