Omake - Through Someone Else's Eyes

Umbrus Shade was a strange boy.

It wasn't unusual for a student to come meet the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore was sure of it. It wasn't unusual for an orphan to grow attached to its teachers' figures, and some still kept correspondence even then with their favorite professors. What was unusual was the gaze in the boy's eyes.

It was intelligence. There was wonder in those eyes, like all students had during their first years, but also intelligence. It was cold, calculative, but never threatening. That was what put him off about the boy. It was as if Gellert and Tom had both decided to give a tiny bit of themselves to an otherwise utterly strange, and foreign, boy. Tom had been charming, but never warm, never willing to let go of his pride, of his feelings of superiority. Gellert too had believed himself above others, but to a lesser degree, still dangerous, still hurtful, but lesser all the same.

Yet, they had both brought about a coldness within them that could hardly be discarded.

He had been wary. The hat had warned him that the only reason the boy wasn't a Slytherin was that he'd be a threat to the students themselves in that house, a dangerous threat. How could a first year student even be a threat to them, he wondered, but then he stopped wondering.

There was talent. There was drive. One or the other wouldn't be uncommon, both together normally forged the most incredible of wizards. He kept growing, by leaps and bounds. His eyes kept staring, his voice kept being gentle, his questions never about power, or new strange spells, but about everyday life, about what it was to be a wizard, about the tiredness, the worries, the days he would be less of a hassle to come by for sherbet lemons and tea.

He feared he may have yet found another Tom, another Gellert, one that he would not be able to sense as such. He was getting old, he had made mistakes in his youth, but being the barmy old codger that he was, he feared making another.

"Albus, the Philosopher Stone-" his heart sunk, his heart sunk when he heard it had been stolen, but even so, he felt he knew where it had gone.

He met him, the boy that looked both like his two greatest sins, and errors, and realized that through his eyes he couldn't see. There was cold, calculative logic, there were many things in there that would have terrified him, should have worried him, but instead he found nothing but quiet worry about the misuse of the stone, sorrow about the death of old people, and the honest desire to make everyone happy, and remove the silliness -in his opinion- of the House Cup.

In a world of spite, a small beacon of love.

The second year, he awoke to Fawkes' silent gliding away, to the quiet alarm for his room's security being breached. The petrification of the cat weighed on him. Though he didn't want to believe it possible, such Dark Arts should be beyond a second year's abilities. Yet he had already done the impossible before, hadn't he? He admitted that as he got dressed, he expected the worst.

What he found was even more. What kind of boy would face a Basilisk without warning its teachers? What kind of hero would fight an enemy, eradicate such evil?

He looked into the boy's eyes, and saw his answer written clearly in their reflection. Somebody had to do something, and I was the one better suited for this. I can face evil, so I must fight it. If I do not, then is it not like letting Evil win?

Please do not make my mistakes. He pleaded silently. He whispered the prayer at night, when sleep failed to come to his old bones, and nightmares and dreams mixed together. And when those things happened, his words drummed into his old, badgery skull. "Never do anything that can keep me awake at night, because I like my sleep very much."

He wasn't a wizard that would forgive everyone, and he wasn't a wizard that would hate everyone. He was blunt, and honest. He could be charming, and he could not be.

"Albus, that student of yours," Sirius spoke in a hushed whisper, "He's not normal, is he?"

"Mister Umbrus is a valued student of Hogwarts, Sirius," the Headmaster whispered back, "I would think that as someone who owes his freedom to him, you wouldn't look at him strangely for being slightly odd."

Sirius shook his head. "Please, Albus, that's not what I meant," he grimaced. "Kiddo came right in front of a mass murderer, captured him, and then decided to hear him out. Had it been Bellatrix, you'd be picking his pieces off the walls."

Albus grimaced, and then shook his head. "I have the feeling that if it had been Madam Lestrange, then I would not have found her remains in a thousand years."

Sirius snorted, "He said he was protecting the students and the teachers, Albus. Remind you of someone else?"

It pained him. His heart really did pain him whenever he saw someone believe in him. He wasn't perfect; far from it, he was the worst example of hero one could ask for.

He shouldn't have felt proud. He shouldn't have felt joy at the feeling that perhaps, there would be someone capable to become what he, himself, had never managed to really be. Sure, he was a beacon of hope for all the Light Wizards out there. He was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, he was the Supreme Mugwump much to his chagrin, and he was many other things...but he had sins.

He had mistakes, heavy, hefty mistakes.

He had committed crimes, murder-his own sister's, no less, but yet when he heard the charming Ravenclaw boy speak, it felt as if he didn't need to explain his guilt, or his worries. Even then, he'd still be forgiven.

But he hadn't the right to be forgiven.

He didn't have that right. He didn't have-

He didn't have the right to be a coward and run from his own battles, when such a courageous young boy went even when scared out of his wits, trembling with his legs, and whimpering all the while.

"Aberforth," he spoke his brother's name with a whisper, stepping inside the inn that could use a lot of cleaning, but his brother had never cleaned. His brother hadn't expected him to come inside.

"Dumbledore," he answered. There had always been a gulf between them. Ever since Ariana, ever since his sister, the gulf had been there, and it had never closed. It had never mended. They could speak, they could send letters, but they would never grow closer.

He could not stand it; it was what the mirror of Erised showed him, and now he stood there, in front of his brother, fearing for a battle he wouldn't be able to fight.

"Aberforth," he said once more, moving closer to the counter. "I..." the words failed him.

His brother looked at him. His brows furrowed as much as they could, showing all that there was on his face that resembled him whenever he looked at the mirror. "Are you..." he held his breath, "Albus," he whispered, "Are you all right?"

"I have no right to ask this of you," he whispered back, his voice cracking. "I haven't the right."

"You let me be the judge of that," Aberforth grumbled, slamming his meaty hand on the counter in front of him. "Sit or you'll faint, you old coot of a brother of mine."

He did just that.

Forgiveness...

...had truly always been just a courageous battle away.