A burning summer

30th July 1899

His brother came from the opposite direction, the coffin separated them there at the cemetery as in life. He was accompanied by the priest who seemed to feel extremely out of place and eager to go home for a second breakfast as soon as possible.

Albus barely listened to the priest's blessings. He looked at his brother all the time, unable to look at the coffin as he did, for Ariana only an ancient Latin verse from Catullus came to mind to express his pain: atque in perpetuum soror, "and forever sister".

"May she rest in peace" concluded the clergyman and then levitated the coffin into the grave, pointing his wand with an almost bored gesture.

Aberforth looked up at Albus when Ariana was finally swallowed by the black pit.

"Oh, she was never at peace. I really hope she finds it now, because life was hell for her," he said in a whisper, rough after all the tears he must have shed.

The young English wizard could not find words, or perhaps he did not dare to say any, he just nodded.

"Living hell you made it for her" his brother hissed so that the priest would not hear him. Albus didn't answer, accepting the burning pain that gripped his heart without resistance. He finally looked down at the grave on which Aberforth had made a wreath of flowers appear and then knelt down. He wanted to cry, but the tears stuck in his throat.

"I'm so sorry," he said, feeling incredibly ridiculous and foolish. His brother didn't move, but he didn't look at him anymore.

"She was such a happy girl ... until you, you destroyed everything" he said and Albus sighed as he had done at least a million times talking to his brother.

"I am so ... so sorry about how it ended, yet ..." he said and when he saw his brother approach him and raise his fist in his face he didn't move. The only one who ran in their direction, shocked at the sound of Albus' nose breaking, was the priest.

"Boys! Boys! Contain your pain in this sacred place!" he admonished Aberforth who left without giving his older brother even one more look.

Also the clergyman took advantage of the moment for an awkward escape and so Albus was left alone feeling the warm blood running down his lips. And he realised he was truly lonely, lost. He felt all his certainties crumble off him like paint after too much rain. He was completely alone in the world and at that point he shut his eyes in despair, clenched his fists and forced himself to stay there, to honour his sister, but he couldn't.

He got up and ran. He passed the square ignoring the crooked looks that some people gave him and he ran harder until he arrived breathless under the attic window.

He stopped for a moment thinking that he wouldn't find courage, but he felt so lonely, abandoned, and so he raised his wand, making a light go up towards the window, but it remained dark. Albus's breath returned frantic.

"Gellert, please," he whispered.

"Gellert!" then called after a while, but he got no answer. He began to sweat cold, a wave of panic overwhelmed him brutally. He went to the rough wooden door and knocked.

"Gellert!" he shouted, still knocking.

"Gellert, please, it's me! Please!" he prayed, raising his voice again. The door opened and Albus fell forward. He found herself face to face with Bathilda who opened her mouth in surprise, probably to ask him if he was all right, but the young English wizard did not give her time to speak.

"I need to talk to Gellert! I need ..." he said and his head started spinning.

"I just need ... I have to be with him for a moment" he breathed, leaning against the wall as black dots began to obscure his sight.

"Oh, Albus," Bathilda whispered, dabbing his bloodstained face with a handkerchief.

"Gellert told me what happened, that your sister has reached the end. We all knew it was going to happen sooner or later, but it's still so painful."

The historian's voice reached him from very far away.

"Gellert?" he asked again in a hoarse voice, not quite understanding what Bathilda was saying to him. The old lady gave him a compassionate look.

"I'm sorry, Albus, but Gellert is already gone. He told me you needed some time for yourself."

The world fell apart like a mirror of Albus himself.

"What?" he mouthed, looking for support somewhere.

"Albus, dear, are you feeling quite alright?" Mrs Bagshot asked him worriedly. The auburn haired crouched on the ground trembling.

"No," he said desperately and then cried all the tears he hadn't been able to shed in those last horrible days. He wept for his sister, for his brother whom he could no longer even call that, for Gellert, for their love and for how destructive it had been. He wept because the wonderful summer dream was over and because his heart ached terribly. But above all he wept for himself and for all the mistakes he had made, for how he had censored his mind and all that would be wise, for daring to think he was a better person than others.

The truth was that there was no difference between him and everyone else. The blood that now stained his face was crimson just like that of all other people, wizards and muggles. Albus Dumbledore had a brilliant mind that made him special, others had other skills to make them so, and the young English wizard felt suffocated by realising the huge mistake he had made. He had thought he had the right to rise above others with his extraordinary abilities, yet the hard truth was that he had a duty to put his abilities at the disposal of the people.

He should never have wanted the greater good. He should have actually made some good for a better world.