Percival Dumbledore

@regretismyconstantcompanion asked: ❛ i didn’t ask to get made. ❜

The portrait of Percival Dumbledore was not a particularly large one, which seemed somewhat at odds to both the size of the man it portrayed, and his personality as well. Percival Dumbledore had been a mountain of a man, quick to laugh, but also quick to temper when those he loved were hurt. It had been that temper that had sealed his fate in the end.

Blue eyes, the mirror of his son's, looked out from the frame with a sad look. How he wished he'd been able to see him grow up, to become the man he was today. But fate had had other ideas, and now this portrait was all that was left of the father that had once been.

"No one ever does."

Yes, Albus knew the answer only too well. To be selfish and just stand back and watch the world burn was unforgivable. He couldn't do that, even if it was going to cost him his own happiness.

"I love him. I know that perhaps I shouldn't. Given everything that has happened. Merlin knows it would be easier if I didn't." Albus sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging as tears burned at his eyes. "But I do. I love him as much now as I ever did. If... When I do this... I know there won't be anyone else for me." He'd never come considered breaking his vows. He loved Gellert still and being with anyone else was unthinkable.

“We don’t choose who we love, Albus. We cannot guide our heart only to love those who are deemed right any more than we can turn night into day. We might bring light to the darkness for a little while, but we can never truly change it eternally, no matter our desires.”

His heart ached for his son. His sweet boy, who had already sacrificed so much, who had seen more loss at such a young age than any child ought to. Gone was the carefree boy who’d often disappeared behind a mountain of books, or tugged at his hand to ask yet another question about something. He’d had to grow up far too quickly.

Albus closed his eyes. He was so very tired. Tired of endless sacrifices that he felt he'd been making since he was a child. It never ended. More loss, more grief, more pain. He'd lost so much in the past, his entire family so quickly. Abe was still alive but they were barely speaking and Gellert... it was beyond complicated and they'd been torn apart before they'd ever really had a chance to begin. Now it was Albus himself who was going to ruin any hope they had of reuniting. "I'm tired Papa." Albus felt tears spill and run down his cheeks. "I'm so tired of being alone. Do you know what it's like to be alone? To have no one?" He didn't want anyone to know what his felt like. He'd always been quite a solitary child. He had acquaintances and there had been a brief moment in time that he, Abe and Ariana had been quite close but their connection had been shattered after Ari's attack. But then Gellert had come into his life and he had never felt like that about anyone. It truly had been like meeting the other half of his soul, only to have it all torn away and leaving an empty void behind.

If the portrait of Percival Dumbledore had had a heart, it would have shattered in that moment, seeing his son in such a state. He wanted to take him in his arms as if he were a child again, pick him up and rock him gently, reassure him that everything would be alright, that he was loved, wanted to at least reach out to him, but there was nothing the portrait could do, no way of enacting such wishes.

“I’m sorry.”

The painting whispered, a look of grief on the painted face of Percival. It seemed to him like this was his fault, that if he hadn’t sought vengeance perhaps their family would have held together in some way, perhaps they might have avoided future tragedy, and Albus would not have found himself in this position.

"Why are you sorry? None of this is your fault." Albus wiped at his cheeks, sighing heavily. He understood why his father had reacted the way he had. He'd always been so incredibly protective, he could hardly fault him for wanting to protect his child or even get revenge for Ariana. What they had done to her was unspeakable. It had destroyed her and taken away the bright future she had been destined for. "Abe and I don't really speak much anymore. We see each other occasionally and I think we both make an effort but it's difficult. He blames me for..." Albus gazed up his fathers portrait, seeing the pain and grief in his features. Did his father know what had happened that night? Maybe he blamed him too. "He blames me for Ariana's death."

"Perhaps if I'd controlled my temper, things would have been different."

If he'd just restrained himself, moved his family away rather than seeking revenge, maybe things would have been better. He would have been there for his children growing up, perhaps his wife would have lived, perhaps Albus would have been able to go off on the travels that he'd had planned without trying to figure out how to be head of a broken family. Perhaps they'd all still be together.

His younger son had always been incredibly like Percival himself in temperament. He'd inherited his temper and his stubbornness, that was for sure, and he knew Aberforth could hold a grudge with incredible strength. It pained him to see his sons so estranged, when he could recall them playing together as children, "Your brother is stubborn. But I'm sure he appreciates the effort."

"I'm afraid that Aberforth doesn't appreciate much of anything more. At least not where I'm concerned." He knew the pair were trying to mend their broken relationship but it was a long and difficult journey. They were the only family they had left, it didn't seem right to remain estranged. Albus looked up at his father. He had been so angry for so long, but he had never blamed his father for what he had done. He blamed the Muggles and the Ministries but never him. Perhaps he had reacted without thinking but how could he possibly blame his father for wanting to protect his family and even seek revenge? "You were protecting us. You lashed out, after what they'd done to Ari." Albus closed his eyes. She had always been such a happy child, delighted at discovering her own magic was beginning. She had had little control over it, it was all incidental magic as all witches and wizards were prone to.

#regretismyconstantcompanion #v: the portrait on the wall

"Knowing Aberforth, he cares more than he lets on."

Aberforth had always seemed to enjoy being a bit of a conundrum. He both wore his heart on his sleeve while also keeping other emotions tucked away, seemed most crabbed with those he cared about most, and was both fiercely independent while also desperately craving someone to look after him yet pushing it away at the same time. He'd always preferred a more simple life.

Albus on the other hand had always yearned for more. So bright, so eager to learn. He should have been seeing the world, but instead he'd been left to be head of a household before he'd even finished his teenage years. It wasn't fair. He should have been there.

"I still...I should have been there. It wasn't fair on any of you."

They deserved so much better.

poohsources

🐝 * ― 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. ( some random sentences for your angsty needs. feel free to adjust to better fit your muses. )

❛ hey … it’s okay now. you’re safe here. ❜ ❛ please don’t leave me alone again. ❜ ❛ was it all just a lie ? ❜ ❛ you have to trust me on this. ❜ ❛ i didn’t mean it like that ! ❜ ❛ i can’t do this anymore. ❜ ❛ promise me not to do anything stupid. ❜ ❛ we’ll see each other again soon. ❜ ❛ i can’t lose you , too. ❜ ❛ this is how you wanna end it ? ❜ ❛ whatever this is - it’s over. ❜ ❛ i’m not gonna let you die ! ❜ ❛ we have to stop this before someone gets hurt. ❜ ❛ i’m fine … it’s gonna be okay. ❜ ❛ please don’t do this to me. ❜ ❛ just talk to me , okay ? ❜ ❛ don’t close your eyes. stay with me. ❜ ❛ you’ll have to save yourself. ❜ ❛ stop lying to me ! ❜ ❛ you have to do this for me or i’ll never be able to forgive you. ❜ ❛ i deserve better than this. ❜ ❛ just leave me alone. ❜ ❛ we’re too late … ❜ ❛ save yourself while you still can. ❜ ❛ you’re gonna be fine. just stay awake for a little longer , help’s already on their way. ❜ ❛ please don’t cry. ❜ ❛ stop moving , you’re only making this worse. ❜ ❛ does it hurt ? ❜ ❛ if this is the end , i’m really glad i get to be here with you. ❜ ❛ whatever you do , do not let go of my hand. ❜ ❛ i’ve got you. ❜ ❛ i’m sorry for not telling you sooner. ❜ ❛ this is all your fault ! ❜ ❛ we’re gonna survive this , right ? ❜ ❛ we’re screwed. ❜ ❛ just do this for me and we’ll never have to speak to each other again once this is all over. ❜ ❛ i thought you were better than that. ❜ ❛ one of us is gonna end up with a broken heart. ❜ ❛ i’m scared. ❜ ❛ so that’s it ? ❜

#meme

indieslists-blog

harry potter & fantastic beasts and where to find them masterlist — reblog this post to be added to a masterlist of harry potter ( books & movies ) or a fantastic beasts and where to find them roleplayers ! please tag the name of your character, if it is a canon character, original character or crossover and if the blog is single muse or multimuse.

#canon #single muse #percival dumbledore

@regretismyconstantcompanion asked: ❛ i didn’t ask to get made. ❜

The portrait of Percival Dumbledore was not a particularly large one, which seemed somewhat at odds to both the size of the man it portrayed, and his personality as well. Percival Dumbledore had been a mountain of a man, quick to laugh, but also quick to temper when those he loved were hurt. It had been that temper that had sealed his fate in the end.

Blue eyes, the mirror of his son's, looked out from the frame with a sad look. How he wished he'd been able to see him grow up, to become the man he was today. But fate had had other ideas, and now this portrait was all that was left of the father that had once been.

"No one ever does."

Yes, Albus knew the answer only too well. To be selfish and just stand back and watch the world burn was unforgivable. He couldn't do that, even if it was going to cost him his own happiness.

"I love him. I know that perhaps I shouldn't. Given everything that has happened. Merlin knows it would be easier if I didn't." Albus sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging as tears burned at his eyes. "But I do. I love him as much now as I ever did. If... When I do this... I know there won't be anyone else for me." He'd never come considered breaking his vows. He loved Gellert still and being with anyone else was unthinkable.

“We don’t choose who we love, Albus. We cannot guide our heart only to love those who are deemed right any more than we can turn night into day. We might bring light to the darkness for a little while, but we can never truly change it eternally, no matter our desires.”

His heart ached for his son. His sweet boy, who had already sacrificed so much, who had seen more loss at such a young age than any child ought to. Gone was the carefree boy who’d often disappeared behind a mountain of books, or tugged at his hand to ask yet another question about something. He’d had to grow up far too quickly.

Albus closed his eyes. He was so very tired. Tired of endless sacrifices that he felt he'd been making since he was a child. It never ended. More loss, more grief, more pain. He'd lost so much in the past, his entire family so quickly. Abe was still alive but they were barely speaking and Gellert... it was beyond complicated and they'd been torn apart before they'd ever really had a chance to begin. Now it was Albus himself who was going to ruin any hope they had of reuniting. "I'm tired Papa." Albus felt tears spill and run down his cheeks. "I'm so tired of being alone. Do you know what it's like to be alone? To have no one?" He didn't want anyone to know what his felt like. He'd always been quite a solitary child. He had acquaintances and there had been a brief moment in time that he, Abe and Ariana had been quite close but their connection had been shattered after Ari's attack. But then Gellert had come into his life and he had never felt like that about anyone. It truly had been like meeting the other half of his soul, only to have it all torn away and leaving an empty void behind.

If the portrait of Percival Dumbledore had had a heart, it would have shattered in that moment, seeing his son in such a state. He wanted to take him in his arms as if he were a child again, pick him up and rock him gently, reassure him that everything would be alright, that he was loved, wanted to at least reach out to him, but there was nothing the portrait could do, no way of enacting such wishes.

“I’m sorry.”

The painting whispered, a look of grief on the painted face of Percival. It seemed to him like this was his fault, that if he hadn’t sought vengeance perhaps their family would have held together in some way, perhaps they might have avoided future tragedy, and Albus would not have found himself in this position.

"Why are you sorry? None of this is your fault." Albus wiped at his cheeks, sighing heavily. He understood why his father had reacted the way he had. He'd always been so incredibly protective, he could hardly fault him for wanting to protect his child or even get revenge for Ariana. What they had done to her was unspeakable. It had destroyed her and taken away the bright future she had been destined for. "Abe and I don't really speak much anymore. We see each other occasionally and I think we both make an effort but it's difficult. He blames me for..." Albus gazed up his fathers portrait, seeing the pain and grief in his features. Did his father know what had happened that night? Maybe he blamed him too. "He blames me for Ariana's death."

#regretismyconstantcompanion #v: the portrait on the wall

"Perhaps if I'd controlled my temper, things would have been different."

If he'd just restrained himself, moved his family away rather than seeking revenge, maybe things would have been better. He would have been there for his children growing up, perhaps his wife would have lived, perhaps Albus would have been able to go off on the travels that he'd had planned without trying to figure out how to be head of a broken family. Perhaps they'd all still be together.

His younger son had always been incredibly like Percival himself in temperament. He'd inherited his temper and his stubbornness, that was for sure, and he knew Aberforth could hold a grudge with incredible strength. It pained him to see his sons so estranged, when he could recall them playing together as children, "Your brother is stubborn. But I'm sure he appreciates the effort."

@capaciousllextremis asked: ❝ you can’t get all worked up every time something happens to me. that’s just life. you’re not always gonna be able to protect me from it. ❞

A soft sigh, a slump of the shoulders. In his heart, Percival Dumbledore knew that his son was right. No matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to fully protect his children from the world. The world had proved that time and time again, like it was determined to show him just how much it could hurt all those he loved. His wife and his little Ariana, gone where he couldn't follow, his sons barely able to look at each other even as he strained to hold what little of their family remained together.

How had it come to this?

But whether he could protect them or not, it didn't mean that he had to like situations like this. For his son to be attacked like this, for something as simple as who he loved? It made Percival's temper flare with a protective instinct, a lion seeking to protect his cubs.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a deep breath, trying to formulate some semblance of words, "They hurt you. They hurt you and I'm allowed to be angry. I know you're not a child anymore, but that certainly doesn't mean I don't worry."

capaciousllextremis

A small shiver, his eyes looking to the ground as Percival talked, it was as if Albus felt like he was nine again instead of the nineteen year old he was supposed to be. Small and dependent on his father to pick him back up and tell him everything would be alright.

Once Percival finished talking, Albus slowly stood up and walked up to him a little unsteadily. He hid his face against his father’s shoulder and hugged him, both seeking comfort and trying to offer it. His father’s temper towards those that hurt his family was all too known for Albus. It was a miracle that he hadn’t succumbed to the urge to punish Ariana’s attackers.

“I don’t want you thinking you need to avenge me, Papa. That’s three purebloods and a small portion of St. Mungo’s staff,” he mumbled against his shoulder. “But…I know I failed at it…but could you try reaching out to Gellert? I know he doesn’t want to see me, may never want to again, but surely he’d want to know.” Blue eyes looked slightly upward to meet Percival’s hopefully.

#capaciousllextremis #v: the life and lies

Words couldn't explain the sheer panic and terror that he'd felt when Albus hadn't been responding to his letters. He'd told himself at the time that he was being stupid, that his eldest wasn't a child anymore and was probably just busy, had changed his mind and decided to do something different than what he'd had planned. He didn't need his father dogging his footsteps out of some overprotectiveness. And yet he hadn't been able to shake the fear that had curled in his gut, remembering all too well what had happened to his youngest.

Percival watched as his son moved over to him, and he didn't hesitate even a little bit to hold his son close, one arm wrapping around his shoulders, the other hand coming up to gently clasp the back of Albus' head, murmuring soft words of comfort in his ear, while also half clinging to him. It was alright, his son was here and in his arms, and they'd get through this, just like they got through everything.

Though he didn't say it out loud, Percival knew he would take on far more than a few purebloods and some St Mungo's staff for his son. He'd take on the entire world if it was necessary, would do anything for his children, to protect them. Shifting a little, he brushed a loose strand of hair away from Albus' face, a gentle look in his eyes, "I'll try my best, Albus, I promise."

rzmsk

#muse #his little phoenix | ariana

thoughtkick

People don’t usually leave behind their life’s work, but they also don’t usually leave behind their families.

Jenna Evans Welch, from Love & Olives (via thoughtkick)

ravagedgracearchive-deactivated

you do not understand the w e i g h t i place upon my own shoulders

rpmemes-galore

the violently protective … sentence starters lots of mentions of violence and death throughout

the protector

“Of course I killed them. they hurt you.”

“They made you cry…? Where are they?”

“Don’t feel sorry for them, they deserved it.”

“Don’t worry, they won’t be bothering you, again.”

“These bruises are worth it to make sure you’re safe.”

“Why would you want to protect them? They hurt you.”

“Who did this to you? No, don’t lie to me… who did this?”

“If they even step foot near you, again, I’ll take care of it…”

“No, they don’t deserve any mercy. Not after they hurt you.”

“I swear to god, I’m going to rip him/her/them apart for this.”

“Stop? Why? Don’t you want them to pay for what they did to you?”

the protected

“Make them hurt for this… please.”

“Stop! Stop, don’t hurt him/her/them!”

“There. That’s the one who did this to me.”

“Violence doesn’t solve anything, just let this be.”

“They made me bleed. Maybe you should return the favor.”

“I don’t want them dead, I just want them to leave me alone.”

“Why did you do this? Why…? I never asked you to fight them.”

“No, I don’t want you to fight them for me. It’s not that big a deal.”

“I don’t care what you do to them, just keep them away from me.”

“I’m not worth you risking your life for… for what? Getting even for me?”

#meme

onceuponamusing

TRUE STRENGTH is not measured

by the power of ARMS or the wit of WORDS

— but by the depth of HEART.

thoughtkick

“You can blame yourself for anything if you think about it long enough”

— Friday Night Lights (TV Series 2006–2011)

If you're going to say that Percival is from Belfast, you should probably realise that that's in Northern Ireland, not Ireland. They're two different countries, maybe learn some geography before you just start writing utter shit

Ok, sorry, but I've legitimately spent half the day laughing my head off at this.

First of all, delighted that you've gone through this blog enough to find that, thanks very much.

Secondly I'd like to point something out:

Percival Dumbledore, by canon, was born at some point pre 1864. Mine was born in 1857. Canonically, we know he dies in Azkaban at some point after 1891, I've personally gone with 1902, but that's just me. What do these dates matter?

Well, you see, Northern Ireland didn't exist as a country of its own until 1921, when Ireland was partitioned. There was a whole lot of fighting happened around that, but regardless, 1921.

Meaning that for the entirety of my Percival Dumbledore's life, it was just Ireland. And to be technical, Ireland is the name of the entire island. Even now, people from Northern Ireland can hold a British passport, an Irish passport, or both. They can still claim Irish as their nationality. By technicality, the two countries are Northern Ireland and Ireland/Republic of Ireland, whichever name you prefer really. We'll not get into the whole politics of it because we could legitimately be here until next year. So therefore I'm perfectly fine to claim Percival as being from Belfast, Ireland, because that would have been true as of the time period he was living in.

While I appreciate your concern, maybe learn some history before you start trying to dictate to strangers on the internet what they do, particularly when said stranger happens to actually be both from and living in Northern Ireland right now.

#anon #ooc #answered

@regretismyconstantcompanion

A long time had passed since Percival Dumbledore had drawn his last breath, curled on the floor of a cell in Azkaban, eyes unseeing, his once bulky frame pale and gaunt. A long time since those who worked there had buried his body, no offer even made to return it to his family. And for all that time, Percival Dumbledore had watched and waited.

To be reunited with his wife, with his daughter, had been a blessing, but there were more to come. It warmed his heart to see that his sons at least would live out long lives, although it pained him just as much to realise that his eldest’s would still be cut short. Only Aberforth would go on, to a natural end. But now…now Albus would join them.

Even now, Percival couldn’t say he really understood this place, this sort of inbetween that they could come and go from, but that didn’t really matter. Here he would wait for his son to come home, looking much as he had the last time the two had seen each other.

Albus wasn’t quite sure where he was but he knew that he had died. This plan had been a long time in the making, a necessary loss in a war that he had sadly had to leave behind. It had pained him greatly, having to abandon Harry when perhaps he would be needing him the most. The boy who had become the closest thing he had to a son, to a family of his own. It was no comfort that Harry would perhaps soon be joining him in death. He didn’t want to think about that right now, clinging to the hope that the ground work he had laid before his passing would be enough to save the boy and the rest of the world too. He looked around, not recognising where he was. It was white with misty edges, a comfortable silence filling the void. Was he alone here? Was this heaven or perhaps he was in limbo? He certainly had enough unfinished business on earth or perhaps not be ready to move on just yet. He caught a glimpse of his clothes, surprised not to find the tunic or robes that he usually wore. Instead, he was wearing a grey 3 piece suit. Something he hadn’t worn for decades. He brought his hand up to his face, eyes widening to discover his beard was much shorter than it had been recently. His hair was short too. He hadn’t worn it like this since the 40’s at least. He looked up sharply when he heard a noise in the mist, hand already reaching for a wand that wasn’t there. He winced slightly, realising that he likely couldn’t have performed magic here. “Who’s there?” he called out, taking a step toward the mist.

Much had happened in the world since Percival Dumbledore had left it. The muggles had had two world wars, and the magical world had not been unscathed either, tumbling again and again into wars of its own. So many losses along the way, so much pain and fear and hatred and grief. Would the world ever know peace? Percival couldn’t say. That wasn’t for them to know, they could only watch, watch and hope and wait for those they loved to join them sooner or later. He couldn’t help but hope that for his last remaining child, it would be later.

But for now, it was time for Albus to come home.

Even through the mist as he approached, he could see his boy. Not as he remembered him from life, no, the last time Percival Dumbledore had truly laid eyes on his son, Albus had been but a boy of ten, watching with a look of horror as aurors dragged his father away to Azkaban. No, the man before him was grown, in his prime perhaps some might say, dressed in a three piece suit, red hair and beard cropped short.

On Percival’s side, he knew he looked much like he had that last day together, red hair in a mane down to his shoulders, beard thick on his cheeks, blue eyes twinkling beneath thick eyebrows. He’d lasted eleven years in Azkaban before he’d succumbed to the torment of the dementors and breathed his last.

Slowly, he took a step forward, moving easily through the mist and into the white, illuminated space where his son would see him, a soft expression curling his features as father and son were reunited for the first time in over a century.

Albus’ eyes widened, a gasp falling from his lips as the man came into view. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting but it certainly hadn’t been his father coming toward him. They hadn’t seen each other since the night the Aurors had come to drag his father away. There had been so much crying and screaming and his mother had had to told him back after he kicked one of the Aurors in the shins, demanding they unhand his father. With all the confidence only a 10 year old could muster. He took a few slow steps forward, taking in the sight. He had spoken to his fathers portrait many times over the years but that hadn’t really been him. A portrait was just a memoir, a snapshot in a moment of time, a memory. But this, the man before him was truly his father. He looked just as he had, that final night he had seen him. They’d never been allowed to see him once he had been taken to Azkaban and they hadn’t even been permitted to retrieve his body after his death. Albus had grieved deeply, feeling as though he had lost his father twice. He’d loathed that he couldn’t bury their parents side by side like they would have wanted. “Papa?” Albus whispered when he was standing before him. “It’s really you?” He didn’t even wait for a response, already knowing the answer and he threw himself into his arms.

#regretismyconstantcompanion #v: kings cross

Percival could see the surprise on his son’s face, how even though physically he was a grown man, for a moment he could almost see that little boy again, the one who had looked up at him, his own blue eyes mirrored back at him, who he would tuck into bed, read stories to, who he would soothe after nightmares.

That final night was still clear in his mind. He’d known it was coming, ever since he’d taken his vengeance for Ariana on those boys. He’d tried to prepare them for it as best he could without fully explaining to his children- they’d been so small, they would never have understood what had really happened. He could remember the sight of Ariana’s frightened face through the rails of the stairs, Aberforth clutching her, cheeks red with tears. His Kendra, clutching their eldest and holding him back as he screamed, as the stunning spell had knocked Percival to his knees and he’d been dragged off.

He’d never seen them again. Part of him though was thankful that they had never seen him in Azkaban. It had been the worst of places, one he would never have put his family through, nor would he have wanted them to see him like that, catatonic in his own grief and despair until he finally lost the will to live.

Percival’s arms went out, wrapping around his son and clutching him close, tucking him under his chin. His boy had gotten tall, but not quite tall enough to out do his father. Eyes closing for a moment, he just savoured in being able to hold him again, letting out a shaky breath, “Albus...my son...”

@regretismyconstantcompanion asked: ❛ i didn’t ask to get made. ❜

The portrait of Percival Dumbledore was not a particularly large one, which seemed somewhat at odds to both the size of the man it portrayed, and his personality as well. Percival Dumbledore had been a mountain of a man, quick to laugh, but also quick to temper when those he loved were hurt. It had been that temper that had sealed his fate in the end.

Blue eyes, the mirror of his son's, looked out from the frame with a sad look. How he wished he'd been able to see him grow up, to become the man he was today. But fate had had other ideas, and now this portrait was all that was left of the father that had once been.

"No one ever does."

Yes, Albus knew the answer only too well. To be selfish and just stand back and watch the world burn was unforgivable. He couldn't do that, even if it was going to cost him his own happiness.

"I love him. I know that perhaps I shouldn't. Given everything that has happened. Merlin knows it would be easier if I didn't." Albus sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging as tears burned at his eyes. "But I do. I love him as much now as I ever did. If... When I do this... I know there won't be anyone else for me." He'd never come considered breaking his vows. He loved Gellert still and being with anyone else was unthinkable.

“We don’t choose who we love, Albus. We cannot guide our heart only to love those who are deemed right any more than we can turn night into day. We might bring light to the darkness for a little while, but we can never truly change it eternally, no matter our desires.”

His heart ached for his son. His sweet boy, who had already sacrificed so much, who had seen more loss at such a young age than any child ought to. Gone was the carefree boy who’d often disappeared behind a mountain of books, or tugged at his hand to ask yet another question about something. He’d had to grow up far too quickly.

Albus closed his eyes. He was so very tired. Tired of endless sacrifices that he felt he'd been making since he was a child. It never ended. More loss, more grief, more pain. He'd lost so much in the past, his entire family so quickly. Abe was still alive but they were barely speaking and Gellert... it was beyond complicated and they'd been torn apart before they'd ever really had a chance to begin. Now it was Albus himself who was going to ruin any hope they had of reuniting. "I'm tired Papa." Albus felt tears spill and run down his cheeks. "I'm so tired of being alone. Do you know what it's like to be alone? To have no one?" He didn't want anyone to know what his felt like. He'd always been quite a solitary child. He had acquaintances and there had been a brief moment in time that he, Abe and Ariana had been quite close but their connection had been shattered after Ari's attack. But then Gellert had come into his life and he had never felt like that about anyone. It truly had been like meeting the other half of his soul, only to have it all torn away and leaving an empty void behind.