The Years of Riddle

Chapter Sixty | Hogwarts, June 1997

Chapter Sixty

Hogwarts, June 1997

         The castle was steeped in silence. Silas had taken Magnus back to his dorm, hugged him tightly, told him to try and sleep. "I'm not going anywhere," he said, trying to reassure him. After making sure his son was safe, Silas wandered out beyond the oak doors and stood on the steps, still covered in blood, past the gardens and towards the bottom of the tower. There were still people gathered, and he called to them.

"Go inside," he said, voice low. "Have respect for the fallen." The students nodded and moved as one, leaving only Professor McGonagall and Hagrid standing before Dumbledore's body.

"I don' know if I can..." Hagrid said upon seeing Silas. "I told Professor McGonagall I would move 'im, but..."

"I'll do it Professor," he put a light hand on her shoulder. "Could you owl Molly and Arthur Weasley? Bill has been injured, I believe someone has taken him to the hospital wing."

Professor McGonagall nodded, wiping a tear away. "Thank you Silas." She paused for a moment, looking between the body and her old student. "He always had a soft spot for you, called you one of his best and brightest," her voice trembled, "He was right."

"Thank you." Silas watched her go, Hagrid following after her, but did not move. He did not know how long he stood there, only that at one point he heard Foxe the phoenix's song rise through the night air, moving through him in waves. He felt immeasurable grief as he looked down at the body of Albus Dumbledore, someone who had made Silas the man he was today. Yes Dumbledore had kept secrets from him, and put him in danger, but he had also been a teacher, a mentor, and a friend. There were so many things Silas would never be able to ask him now, and he felt his world shake and crumble as it had so many times before.

As the phoenix's song faded, Silas did not bother with his wand, rather picked Dumbledore's body up himself and cradled him, much as he would have done with one of his children when they were young. Walking back to the castle, he remembered one of his first conversations with Dumbledore.

"I wanted to simply...check up on you, Silas."

"Oh." Silas had shifted nervously. "Well, I'm okay sir, thank you."

"Your mother taught you wonderful manners Silas, but it is all right not to be...your best self, you understand?"

"I understand sir, but really – I am doing all right."

"Nothing has been –" he had paused, searching Silas' face, "Bothering you?"

"No sir, nothing has been bothering me."

Dumbledore had looked unsure. "Well, if you ever feel the need to...clear anything up, something you may not feel comfortable asking your father –"

"I find it very easy to talk to my father." Silas had interrupted. "We're very alike."

There was something odd about the way Dumbledore hesitated. "Yes, I can see that. Fathers and sons are...tricky."

"I don't think I'm old enough to agree yet. Professor." He added.

"You know Silas, I met your mother when she was just a little girl." Dumbledore adopted a troubled expression.

Silas' head had snapped up. "You did? How – I mean –"

"One day I will tell you the story."

Dumbledore had told him the story, a long time ago now. Silas felt his chest contract painfully at the memory, recalling other moments between them. He was sure Harry was feeling something similar. With great care, he rested Dumbledore's body in an empty classroom, turning his handkerchief into a cloth to cover him. Before shrouding his face, he straightened his half-moon spectacles, as Harry had.