HA 5b: Words

HIM AGAIN: Chapter 5: No More - Words

Weeks and months passed. Albus tried to combat the boredom by playing games inside his head - counting the cracks on the ceiling, trying to recall the answers to the various crossword puzzles he’d once been in the habit of doing and going over the more complex nuances of transfiguration. The first two months soon exhausted such dissatisfying exercises and he soon began chewing over memories and questions.

In the time leading up to his death, Albus had spent so much time thinking about the war and concentrating on the hefty problem of Voldemort, that it was hard not to fall back into the habit. More than once he found himself trying to estimate, for example, the alliances of the various members of the Wizengamot, before realising abruptly that Voldemort had been defeated, and that several of the Wizengamot had probably died. It was a very strange experience - the jolt felt was half pleasant and half terrible. He felt an immense curiosity about the whole thing: how had Voldemort been defeated? He had had several theories as to how it could be done and had obviously known that Harry would be the instrument of victory - but how had it happened, exactly? Harry had clearly destroyed the Horcruxes, but… how had he done so? How had he found the unidentified Horcruxes? How had the final battle against Voldemort had taken place? How had Harry won, when Voldemort’s magical power had been infinitely superior, even when matched against the ‘power he knew not?’

The matter of Snape’s betrayal was the hardest thing to contemplate. Albus felt a bitter anger at himself for allowing himself to be blinded by Snape’s (he found himself abhorring the name Severus) façade and for ignoring Harry’s warnings. He had preached trust, whilst refusing to trust someone he loved. How could that be justified?

As for Snape himself! You betrayed yourself. You betrayed your own reasoning, your own feelings, your own soul. You betrayed, above all, Lily’s memory.

He only felt appreciative of his new life when with Harry. Harry quite obviously loved the son he thought he had, and Albus did his best to live up to his new father’s wishes. It was Harry’s hands that guided ‘Brian’ as he stumbled and took his first steps. It was Harry who walked around the house with him, playing a primitive form of hide-and-seek.

Ginny boasted to her friends of her ‘little angel.’ “He never cries, you know. A little star. But give him a toy and he’ll just stare at you as though he doesn’t see the point.”

Gradually, he was learning to control his new body. He had the feeling of simply re-learning an old skill which he hadn’t used in a while and it was something to do to pass the time.

Occasionally, he tried to speak - but that particular part of his body, to his frustration, simply would not obey him. Coordination of the tongue, gums and lips all at once was still difficult; the only sounds he could produce were gurgling noises. However, for the sake of the truth, he continued to try - and seemed to get slightly closer each time.

“Haaoorr. Haorreee. Hahhhhrrr.”

Right now, the subject of his efforts was at work, and his ‘mother’ - a thought that shook him whenever it came to him - was humming to herself in the kitchen. It brought back memories of Maria Dumbledore, who had also hummed whilst making the dinner - his father had called her his ‘bumblebee.’ He had taken the opportunity to get away and had crawled into the dining room, to practise.

He swallowed and stared up at the mantelpiece, on which sat a photo of Harry and Ginny at their wedding, smiling and dancing to music only they could hear. It recalled the photo of James and Lily and he felt himself smile unconsciously before beginning.

“Haooorrr. Haaaooorrre.”

Determination flared in him. He had to do this; he owed Harry and Ginny the truth, no matter how painful it was! Albus had learnt from the mistake he’d made during Harry’s fifth year and would never repeat it.

“Haaooorreee.”

Perhaps - perhaps if he learnt to speak, he would be able to talk to Minerva himself and ask her what was wrong.

“Haaweee. Hahwee.”

Albus blinked. The sound was recognisable as being Harry’s name. Maybe now…

“Hahwee. Ieem Allbuhsh Duhmballdooorr.”

Excitement surged through him. Somehow, at last, he was remembering! The words were slurred and distorted, but one could know them for what they were. When Harry came back from work, if he could get the pair of them alone and…

Albus’s enthusiasm faded. The physical rudiments had indeed arrived, but there were still the question as to how to tell Harry and Ginny. How would he phrase it? Where would he begin? Was it even possible to deliver such news gently? Ginny’s horrified and shocked face swam before him: she’d given birth to her headmaster! And Harry… His thoughts stalled; Harry’s reaction was impossible to fathom and unbearable to think about. It was all very well calling a child after someone who was dead, but it was definitely not acceptable for the said deceased to actually turn out to be that child.

In spite of what Harry had said earlier, it was still obvious to Albus that he would not be welcome. Even Sirius, he mused, would not be quite so welcome now - not years after he’d died, after the war had ended, not after Harry had had such a hard time getting over his grief. Albus tried to put himself in Harry’s shoes - how would he feel if his headmaster turned up as his child? Horrified, he thought. Devastated.

The comparison wasn’t exactly fair, though. Albus’s relationship with his headmaster had never been as warm as his relationship with Harry had been, and it had eventually descended into outright hostility. Harry and he had been close; he could even be pleased that… But no. He swept the thought aside. It was the concept that was important, not the who.

The child that was Albus Dumbledore gave a small sigh and rocked back on its heels. Harry would be back in a few hours, and then it would all come out.