At Any Moment II

Albus I

12 months later...

And so we begin again, Arcanus. It's an odd feeling to open you and start a new chapter, as I felt no urge to continue to unfold the minutiae of my life after your last visit to me. You, of course, may choose to argue that I've left it altogether too long to come back to you this time. I can offer no particular reason other than I had a few things to do in this interim time. Not much to show for it either I might add, but then often the most important things resolve themselves in such a way that time gains a whole new fluidity.

I've no doubt you know a great deal of what I've been doing these many months. After all, most of it did occur under your very nose, so to speak, and I'm not so blinded as to not understand why it is that I now need to come back and finish this final chapter of my life. But how I wish it would all resolve itself without need of my interference! There are so many things hanging, waiting almost breathlessly to sort themselves out. I had hoped that the shock of the final confrontation might have spurred action from all those concerned, but grief blinds more often than it heals and our world still needs to heal a great many rifts. You should excuse me, old friend for my melancholic nature. It seems Severus shared more of himself than he realises.

I'm not sure how to start to tell of my frustration with everything around me these last months. I am constantly on edge, shifting aimlessly in the vain hope that someone might give me an anchoring point, but to no avail. The first few weeks following Riddle's attack on Hogwarts and Harry were almost more healing than these last eleven months together. I do understand that my view is hardly objective, but I visited so many families of students lost on the front lawn that day that it's hard to make very much sense of anything.

As you are aware, I did try to start and tell you where I'd been not long after my many tasks had been completed, but it never seemed like the right time. Perhaps more truthfully, I had no idea how to start...and so I prevaricated and dawdled in coming back to you. I never felt like this with the old journal, but perhaps I have in many ways invested so much of myself this time that I felt depleted and careworn for not coming back to tidy things up sooner.

All...everything is still in some ways a large puzzle, of which the final few pieces are missing. How cryptic of me, but I've no other way to describe it to my satisfaction, and so I must rely on allegorical examples to try and muddle my way through the tumult swirling around restlessly.

What a mess Riddle bequeathed to our world! So many lives were touched, damaged; and some, all too close to home, destroyed. I simply cannot understand the futility of why we as thinking individuals must rely on might rather than consultation to resolve what are, all in all, minor quibbles in worded rhetoric? An idle observance, Arcanus, but still one that I've thought of more and more over the last year.

I too have had to rebuild relationships of long standing. Harry won't talk to me other than to remark on the mundane occurrences in his daily life, and I suppose I really can't blame him for his avoidance. I am, after all, a rather too potent reminder of a lifetime he would in many ways prefer to forget. He has deluded himself into believing that whilst regarded as a hero to the Wizarding world, he is in many ways a murderer - an avenger who sought out Riddle to expunge the mire of emotion surrounding the death of his parents. He simply will not listen to reason. His guilt at the relief of finally being free of the fear of those who wanted him dead is something he will have to reconcile in his own way. It didn't help that he was lauded as a 'saviour' and shown largesse and gratitude in its many myriad forms. So he flies all day for a living - for a second level team whom he wants to help in his own way. It's as though he's swapped causes without actually realising it.

It's another mark against me that I misread his intentions so horribly. I failed him in so many ways that it's hard to understand just what the turning point actually was.

I failed so many when my support was sorely needed...so many things all hanging in limbo. Some that only now are starting to resolve and heal.

That's partly why I've been so long in talking to you again. I knew in those first harried weeks of 'freedom' that my melancholy would have been poor payment for your friendship. I was also waiting for you to tell me to stop being maudlin and just get on with it.

And so I avoided starting what I've started now...

It's all of little consequence to you I've no doubt, but though light was the victor on the day, it was a price almost too high to pay for the luxury of being able to sit here and write about it all. A petty poor payment for so much sacrifice, if you will.

Now I am being maudlin, but as I've decided to get it all down, I should just move on and stop wallowing in my own self pity. I'm not altogether too sure where to start when it comes right down to it, but I suppose that fateful meeting in the Staffroom is perhaps the most important stepping stone in all of it. My mother always told me, Arcanus, to start any story at the beginning, as I was all too fond even then of going off on tangents that had nothing whatsoever to do with whatever I'd done. It never stopped me from trying, though, particularly when Aberforth and I had done something for which we both knew a punishment would be forthcoming. That really is so long ago and I've no idea why I've thought of it now. Suffice to say that it's much harder to write everything down rather than relying on a Pensieve to recollect things for me.

What a night! I should, in retrospect, I should have taken Severus, Minerva and Miss Granger aside before blurting the whole thing out in front of the other staff, but such is the benefit of hindsight, that I didn't, and both Severus and Minerva made sure to point out repeatedly just how livid they were with the whole spectacle. I think that of the two of them...I really still cannot decide who I hurt more with the pronouncement, but at least Miss Granger didn't look as though she wanted to flay me on the spot. Severus and Minerva, on the other hand though...

War...

I'm waffling again, trying to find a right introduction to it all, but I should have realised sooner that there is no right way to remember any war. Despite polite entreaties from various factions, it was a war. A long drawn out, bitter and divisive war. A war where we, the victors; have spent the last year trying to work out what we might have missed that could have avoided such an appalling loss of life, and in many circles...trying to find a scapegoat for the chaos it all created.

Severus seemed for a time to be the perfect scapegoat to the irrational forces in the Ministry of Magic, the perfect foil to the question of apportioning blame. He was very nearly rounded up with the stragglers left abandoned once Riddle and his more ferocious followers were all left dead and dying on the lawn in front of the main entrance. The only thing that stopped his immediate removal from the school under a heavy escort was the more pressing concern of how to treat the injured and catalogue the deceased for family collection. Severus worked tirelessly for over fifteen hours until the Medi-witches and others from St. Mungo's arrived to help.

It was well in Severus' favour to have been seen gently laying Minerva, Miss Granger, Harry and Ronald Weasley on the grass before he went off to find Poppy Pomfrey and begin to help in the most basic of ways. Once triage had been instituted, Severus then worked his way around with Poppy and me, all of us assessing injuries and ensuring that those most seriously injured were attended to first. I had not realised the number of those injured and deceased in the devastation wrought, as I had stayed back with the final group of students deemed to have the least advanced abilities.

What a horrible day that was. And yet Severus, the hated teacher, reviled by most, if not all of the students, worked steadily, and pushed himself to his limits to ensure that he didn't miss anyone who might benefit from some potion or healing charm. He held students' hands and talked to them softly as they exited this life, and not once did I see him raise his voice even when Miss Parkinson called him traitor to his face and refused to look at him or take any of the proffered potions that would have saved her life. Bravado, stupid blind bravado; and by the time the silly girl had changed her mind and decided that living was to be clutched with both hands, it was too late and the damage too extensive to repair.

Severus said nothing then, nor to my knowledge to anyone since, but I could tell that of all the students he had seen die that day, that one cut the most deeply, coming as it did towards the end of such a horrible day.

Though he would most likely deny it, Severus also took pains to regularly check Minerva and Miss Granger, as well as Ron and Harry to see if they had awakened or exhibited any symptoms that could be remedied with either a charm or a potion from his personal supplies. All four of them resisted any and all attempts to revive them, though both Harry and Ron did wake the next morning, sore and bruised but otherwise none the worse for wear. It took Minerva six days to awaken and she could shed no light on what had happened, other than the similar tales of a blinding light that seemed to emanate from Severus and an extremely strong headache as a result of that same light.

Severus was questioned time and again by the buffoons at the Ministry, all of them hoping for a tidbit to slip that would firmly incriminate him as a likely candidate for an extended stay in Azkaban. I tried as hard as I could to prevent the interrogations, but Cornelius and his more fanatical supporters were looking to tidy everything up with a neat little bow. They simply could not or would not understand that those whom they should have been interrogating were all dead or so damaged that to try them would be to perpetrate yet more injustice. Cornelius most of all was driven by guilt mingled with a healthy dose of fear for his prized position in the Magical world. He stalled any reinforcements that might have aided in the fight by clinging to the irrational belief that all around him were seeking the cover of darkness to depose him.

I had more than a few words on that matter alone to say to the stupid fool!

Severus was eventually cleared of any misbehaviour by the simple expediency of drawing back the sleeve of his shirt and exposing the gnarled, reddened and inflamed word burnt magically into his skin. His betrayal and subsequent discovery was in many ways Severus' ultimate redemption, proving to all beyond doubt just which side he had been fighting for all these years. I had never thought I'd be grateful for Riddle's inability to not show off his magical prowess as I was with the obvious evidence on Severus' forearm.

I suppose in one way I should have been grateful that all of this occurred whilst my dear Minerva was still unconscious. I dread the thought of what havoc she might have caused to Fudge's sycophants had she been aware of their all too blatant stupidity. It took her six days to awaken as I've already written, but when she did wake up, she had very little recollection of the events surrounding the battle as a whole. She told me that it was as though she could only remember salient points in a scattered fashion, but not any particular details. She did say that she was sure she'd come across Draco on the battlefield, but as to what had happened to him she had no idea whatsoever.

And so I had to be the one to tell her...

I tried as hard as I could to collect her memories in our personal Pensieve, but she could not or would not give over the memories I needed to show her. In truth, I wanted the easier way out - where I could have just held her close as she relived what remained buried so deeply in her psyche. I thought it would also have made it easier for her to understand the true catastrophe of the battle. Even when I had conceded defeat and left those few scant horrifying memories buried so deeply that they could not be extracted, I was still left with the spectre of having to tell her what I'd seen from my vantage area near the front doors to the castle.

I don't even want to write it down now. It's almost as though it's an aberration of my own memory, and yet I do know full well that it did indeed happen as I recounted to my darling Minerva. She didn't believe me at first, of that I have no doubt. I'm sure in some way the very fact that she had no recollection to it whatsoever meant that it had not occurred and I was mistaken in what I'd seen. Oh, how I wish that had been true.

It makes me still so angry at Tom Riddle even now. He forced me to bluntly tell the woman I've loved for so many years that her grandson, whom she never really got the chance to know as his own person, was dead, and that she had been seen cradling him in her arms not long after she took up her defensive position with Severus, Harry, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and those few others deemed to have advanced enough wand skills to survive with so many targets around them.

I honestly don't know who fired off the curse that felled him, but I do know that there was a great deal of blood involved. From my vantage point I could see the pool in which he was lying rapidly spreading, sinking slowly through the grass until there seemed no possible way that such a flow could continue. I do know that Draco had been advancing steadily towards Miss Granger, and he was only cursed a scant few paces from her side. I had no way to warn any of them without diverting attention to the students I was protecting near the front steps, but all too soon I looked towards Severus and the others only to realise that Minerva was no longer with them.

And then I saw her as I turned my gaze, searching for her in the flurry of activity all around me. She was on her knees with a look of abject shock and grief painted on her face. No tears, but just simply too shocked to comprehend the tragedy in front of her eyes.

I so wanted to abandon my position at that very moment and console her as best I could. I couldn't leave without attracting a lot of unwanted attention and so I was forced to listen to the whispers of the students around me, mostly Hufflepuffs, but also a few Ravenclaws as they struggled to understand how their staunchly Gryffindor Professor could show such grief over someone who had no doubt made many of their lives hell during their schooldays. I tried to get them all to concentrate and leave their speculation until such time as no one was potentially pointing a wand at their throat.

I only wish I could have followed my own advice, but due to good luck rather than good counsel none of our paltry group was injured...physically at least.

Minerva still doesn't believe me, Arcanus. At an elemental level, she thinks it's all some cruel jibe, because, as she said herself, once I'd shown her my recollections, that as she had no memory, it could surely not have happened. Deep down though, I know she understands the truth, but knowing and believing are poles apart in this instance and I have no idea how to help her resolve...everything.

She began to visit Miss Granger in the Infirmary and later in her parents' home not long after she woke up. We lost a closeness that both of us are yet to reconcile completely. That's why I've been so long in coming back to you, old friend.

I still don't know how to begin to confide in you how utterly bereft and lost I feel, and so it was easier initially to avoid any sage advice you might have heaped upon me.