The setting sun painted the sky with an exquisite array of orange hues and crimson plumes, while the far-off calling of birds pierced through the otherwise serene silence.
A tall, handsome boy with shoulder-length auburn hair, a rather long nose, and piercing blue eyes stood transfixed by the mullioned window. Mere moments ago, he had been brimming with hope and excitement, but now his heart was heavy with sorrow and resentment.
The boy had just received news of his mother's untimely passing, and he knew that he had no choice but to return to his orphaned siblings. He felt as though he had to surrender much more than just his dreams and desires; he had to forget himself entirely.
The silence was shattered by the arrival of a cheerful-looking boy with a round face and a neck so short it was almost non-existent. He bustled through the door, relieved to find his friend, but his expression quickly turned to one of confusion and concern upon seeing the tears in his friend's eyes.
"What happened, Albus?" he asked, oblivious to the recent tragedy. Albus was unable to reply, his throat constricted with emotion. He thrust a piece of blotched parchment towards his friend, who caught it and turned as pale as a sheet after reading the letter.
Though previously buoyant, he now looked genuinely devastated and approached his friend to offer comfort.
"Doge," Albus choked out gratefully, but managed to say nothing more.
"We mustn't hesitate any longer," Doge said kindly, grasping Albus' shoulder. In an instant, they vanished from the room.
An unkempt shack came into view, with a modest garden overrun with weeds and shrubs that were anything but pleasing to the eye. There was something off about the place, and the unpleasant odor of goats hung in the air.
A large group of people had gathered outside the modest abode, their faces etched with grief. Albus had already made quite a name for himself, despite having just left school. His numerous achievements, published research, and undeniable talent had already ranked him among the greatest of his time.
The crowd turned to greet them and offered their condolences, their expressions now tinged with pity.
Kendra's body lay draped in a violet cloak, and Albus couldn't help but feel as though she were merely asleep. She looked so peaceful, her elegant features frozen in an endless slumber.
"Ariana..." Aberforth choked through his tears, his resemblance to his brother uncanny, though he was a few years younger.
"She didn't know what she was doing, there was an explosion, and if I was here-" Aberforth broke off, unable to continue.
"There was nothing you could have done, Aberforth," Albus said soothingly, clutching his brother's shoulder.
Ariana had locked herself in her room, and her two brothers stood waiting patiently outside, not wanting to disturb her. They could hear her stifled sobs, and Aberforth grew increasingly uneasy. He wanted to see her, to comfort her...
"Why can't we just-" Aberforth pleaded.
"Aberforth, when she's ready, she'll-" but Albus was cut off.
"But what if she-" Aberforth's voice trembled with fear.
"You and I both know she's stronger than that, Abe," Albus replied calmly.
"What do you know about her? You didn't give a damn, did you? You just went straight to your room when you came home, to polish your trophies and-"
"What's that got to do with anything?" Albus let out a tired sigh.
"I'm here, aren't I? Not in Paris or-"
"You wish you were, though."
"I-" Albus was disrupted as the door creaked open and Ariana's miserable face came into view.
"Don't argue, please," she said weakly.
"It was my fault, all my fault...everything from dad being sent to Azkaban and mom-" she trailed off fighting back tears.
"Ari, don't say that you-"
"I did it Aberforth, I killed her, mom is dead because I lost control," she braced herself for what she was about to say next.
"Al, send me away, go travel the world, there's so much good you can do. I'll be safe there...so will everyone else. It's getting worse, I don't want to hurt anyone else, please," Albus tensed, it was a credible choice that would free him from the shackles he was bound, so he could soar...soar high.
"Al?" Aberforth asked, stupefied by his brother's hesitation.
No...what was he thinking. His mother and father had sacrificed everything to keep Ariana safe. To send her to St. Mungo's would be an insult to their memory.
"No Ari, you're not going anywhere. I can help you...help you control your powers. I promise there'll be no more outbursts from now on. I'll do everything I can." Ariana smiled weakly at her eldest brother. She seemed so much older than 14 that it was almost as if she'd lived a thousand lives, all of them tragic and dismal. They embraced, and in those brief moments, Ariana seemed to have regained her youth...
"Thank you," she sobbed.
It was raining cats and dogs. The kind of rain that contrasted widely with the word summer. Thick gray clouds hung overhead, and droplets of water pattered Albus heavily. 'How could he be so heartless, it's not right that he wanted to go back, to travel the world, to dream...' he thought 'an unnecessary burden...of power, fame, and glory.' He looked around to see if anyone was within sight.
"Homenum revelio," he uttered to no avail, he then waved his wand in a graceful swishing motion. The droplets around him solidified into glass shards that tore at his skin. He watched blankly at the tributaries of blood flowing across his hands. Albus wanted to feel his mental trauma, physically, something he could control...understand...heal. Despite the cold, he took off his soaked shirt, which was now blotched with red streaks. The maims stung, but Albus found them far too easy to ignore, like a distant buzzing sound.
He rested his head on the bark of an old willow and slumped onto the damp floor. He flinched as the rough trunk scraped his back. 'This was more like it,' he thought as he muttered under his breath, healing the rest of his wounds. Albus magicked himself dry and watched wistfully at the pouring rain, his hand glancing off his inner thigh. He reached out and felt a shock going down his spine. 'Just this once,' he thought, desperate to feel something other than sorrow. 'It won't help,' a voice in his head replied. 'You'll just feel worse later.' Albus swore under his breath.
"Fuck this," he said aloud, startling even himself.
"Get a grip, they're not coming back." He drained his shirt of blood, put it on, and Disapparated.
