HA 3a: Revelation

HIM AGAIN: Chapter 3: He's Gone - Revelation

There was something about being in Harry’s arms and being propped up against the secure warmth of his chest so that the beating heart could be heard, that steadied Albus. Here, at last, was some sort of familiarity in amongst the chaos. He could remember a time in which he had held Harry in his arms and looked down to the see the newly cut scar. Once he’d calmed down, he could appreciate the irony of being the one who was held.

It had only been about fifteen minutes since he had stopped being passed around to various Weasley family members and being cooed at by Hermione. His mind was still ringing with shock. How could this be? Seeing that small pink hand that was somehow attached to him…Time had reversed and accelerated at the same time. A baby Albus held by an adult Harry.

Harry!

His soul shuddered with relief. Harry. Alive. Older. Married. All those things he’d feared that Harry would fail to be. There was his face, up above him. It was a strong, worn face, the eyes piercing and intelligent, surrounded by a mane of black hair-

Yet, was this real? He thought so. Everything felt real; he could feel Harry’s arms around him and the softness of the blanket around him. That meant that he was alive too…

I’m Harry. I’m your daddy.

The words flashed back inside his brain. He stared up at Harry, stunned. Daddy? Was that true? Was he really..? Had he really been reborn as..?

Now that he’d had time to think, he realised that he had to do something. Once he’d spoken to Harry, then the pair could start figuring out what to do… He opened his mouth.

“Harry.”

Or, at least, that was what he’d intended to say. What came out was:

“Haoorrrr.”

Albus felt himself blinking in mild surprise and indignation. That strange, high-pitched gurgle couldn’t possibly be him, could it? He scrutinised Harry’s face hopefully, but the man merely grinned and brushed one of Albus’s cheeks lightly with a finger. The contact made him lose track of his thoughts - it was amazing, how sensitive his face was to that one touch! So gentle, so soft… Looking up he saw the protective glint in Harry’s eyes - and he felt odd; nobody had looked at him like that for over a century. Everything was so strange; he was the one who protected, not the one who was protected.

That thought gave him an odd, guiltily pleasurable feeling. His responsibilities had all fallen away from him now. Right now, he was a helpless child, utterly dependent on others to be responsible. And yet…

He should be dead. The curse had undoubtedly killed him; it made absolutely no sense for him to be alive now. Harry had grown up and moved on. He probably didn’t want his former headmaster for a son. Albus was intruding on a future he had no right to be in. It was a sombre concept, and Albus realised that he just had to inform Harry of this, so that…

So that what? If he did somehow manage to get the idea across to Harry, what then? What could possibly be done? Poor Harry and his darling wife would have lost the chance of having an ordinary son and nothing could be done about it. Albus felt like crying again as another revelation hit him.

He was too old. He didn’t want to go through life all over again - especially not when this extra span on Earth that had, for some reason, been given to him, would undoubtedly mean seeing the Gryffindor trio grow old and his old friends and colleagues die. Painfully, his mind turned to Minerva - and then he forced it away again; that particular concept was too much to be thought upon right now. He had been terrified enough - during the Second War - at the idea of Harry being cut down in his teens by some cruel twist of fate. In a perfect world, he could have been certain of Harry outliving him - but events had seemingly conspired to make this happy event ever more unlikely. Weariness gripped him.

Harry, my boy. It’s me.

He tried to imagine Harry’s reaction. His mind blanked; it was impossible.

“Harry. It’s me, Albus Dumbledore,” he tried again.

“Haaoorr. Iieee, aaahhbuu duuuddd.”

“That baby doesn’t half gurgle funny,” he heard Ron’s voice say.

“Better gurgling than screaming,” said Ginny, wisely.