Character Used: Albus Bumblebee
Ratings/Warnings:1st-2nd yr; None
Word Count: 425
A/N: Let's hope I don't screw up the one shot :eek:
Albus Dumbledore was acutely aware of how people thought of him. They called him one of the best and bravest wizard of all time, a worthy Gryffindor; they said he was the only one Voldemort feared. But that is how one is remembered: his deeds, his achievements, the difference he makes. No human being, however, can be grasped in full. No human being wants to be grasped in full. What defines a person in the eyes of others is a summation.
The summation of Albus Dumbledore hardly did him justice. He wasn’t entirely brave. He wasn’t entirely fearless, for when Albus Dumbledore faced the Mirror of Erised, his knees positively trembled.
Oh, it hardly told him anything new. Unlike Harry, who was assaulted by the sudden appearance of his dead parents, and Ronald, to whom the false promise of an exciting and glorious had been given, Albus saw what he acutely understood was irretrievable: kind, naive, expectant bluebell eyes.
They said he was forgiven.
And that was how he’d known it was all a mirage.
After two nights of nearly getting caught, Albus had thought Harry wouldn’t return. Besides, hadn’t the boy seen enough? It was time to pack the Mirror up and send it through the trapdoor.
But then, the sound of quickly approaching footsteps could be heard. To his amazement, Harry was back. Still camouflaged by the powerful Disillusionment Charm he’d been using for three nights in a row, he quickly moved away from the Mirror, determined to give Harry his space. When he noticed the hunger in the boy’s eyes as he settled down on the ground, ready to spend a whole night there, he halted.
He was taken a hundred years back.
The punch on his face had been so powerful his nose broke with an audible crack. The agony, however, was not enough to blur his vision; he saw Aberforth, eyes filled with tears and anger and hatred, and above all, loss. A loss of such magnitude that nothing earthly could compensate for it.
It was there, that same craving, that same ache, in Harry’s bright green’s eyes now.
It was there in his, too, though unseen by anybody.
The only difference between the three of them was that Harry could be still be saved from the inevitable, unyielding despair that had claimed Albus and his brother. And he had to save the boy, before he was accountable for one more ruined life.
Removing the charm from his body, he said in a firm voice that betrayed nothing, “So, back again, Harry?”