****Epilogue****
The last rays of sun blazed through the windows of Hogwarts' tallest tower, spilling into the circular room and making dust dance lazily through the air. It was the 15th of January and mother nature had begun her slow struggle out of the clutches of winter, dragging her burning fingers across the frostbitten quidditch pitch and blazing a path of melted ice and snow behind her. Within the tower, glinting silver instruments hummed and buzzed in a form of lazy procrastination, emitting little puffs of green smoke or spinning in a serene mechanical waltz, but doing nothing of any effect. Upon the walls, old faded paintings were framed in halos of iridescent gold, replicas of previous headmasters and mistresses slumbering in the evening glow. within the centre of the busy calmness, Albus Dumbledore sat, the epitome of infuriating order, hair as strings of silver and robes of a rich purple, eyes dull and glimmer-less. He looked like a wrecked man, and he was. Letting go of those he loved was always difficult for the ancient professor, and letting go of the raven haired boy that he still viewed as the baby on a doorstep was hardest of all. Especially when he had to pretend that he didn't care, that the child who looked just like James but with sweet Lilly's eyes was just a pawn to be given up.
It was torture to him.
Only a few days prior to this one, when the grounds of Hogwarts had been in a deep somnolence and frost had covered all that lived, Albus Dumbledore had sat at his desk penning a letter in emerald ink:
'At 7:23PM on the 27th of December 1995, Harry James Potter died.'
He couldn't believe it. He'd never believe it, not now. Not yet notyetnotyet. Of course some day, but not in that way, not in pain.
Not before him.
And now Dumbledore sat in the exact same spot, slender fingers interlocked in a peaceful gesture, eyes closed lazily.
Fingers trembling subtly, eyelashes damp with tears.
A soft swooshing brought the room temporarily out of its stupor. Dumbledore hardly glanced up to see the magnificent Crimson plumage that was Fawkes the Phoenix swoop into the room.
Until a grubby package hit the desk.
The ancient man reached quivering hands towards the browning paper and hesitated.
It could be a trap --
Or a curse --
Fuck it.
Wrapping was torn back to reveal a small, hastily written note.
'You told me that help could always be found at Hogwarts for those who ask for it.
I hope that still rings true.'
And from behind the letter, a fragment of reflective glass fell, glimmering in the twilight.
And the aged face stared into a shard of mirror.
And storms of emerald and grey met ice blue.
And something flickered.
The End.
[A/N] HI THERE! I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS! It's pretty badly written so I apologise for that.
This has been a crazy ride -- thanks for joining me!
Stay magical,
Alice x
DU LIEST GERADE
Perfectly Broken (Under Editing)
Fanfiction"The fire on his wrists cast shadows into his thoughts."
