|
||||||||
|
||||||||
Author: Ladybug Story: In the Twinkling of an Eye Rating: Everyone Setting: Pre-DH Status: Completed Reviews: 24 Words: 1,792
AN: The idea for this story came from an anecdote I read concerning an Irish man who died: his soul, on departing the house, turned back to kiss his body goodbye. It was a touching little story and it led me to imagine what Dumbledore might have been up to in the time between his death and his funeral.
In the Twinkling of an Eye... … the world is growing heavy … It is barely possible, now, to move limbs or form speech. A slow, swirling darkness enfolds him. He is trapped in a body that will not do as he bids. The potion within pulses and pulls him deeper and deeper. There was something important to be done here, to be said, but it is gasping – drowning in poison. There are people here who need him. He stretches his mind, reaching up, reaching out for them. It is not too late, will never be too late, for repentance … Walk away, Draco, his mind says, stretching with all its might. Trust me. Keep safe. Walk away. Never too late for courage … Courage, Harry, his mind says, forcing, pushing the thoughts out there. Trust me. Keep safe. Be of good courage. Sounds deepen and lengthen. They are talking, shouting, taunting him, but he cannot separate the sounds. Somewhere, between his ears and brain, all sound loses clarity and meaning. His own voice vibrates deep within his chest but he cannot hear the words. He can only trust that his tongue and voice are yielding to his will. So many questions, but it's too late now. Has he said enough, discussed enough, imparted enough? Will they do it? Is this the best way? Does he even have a choice anymore? He has no control left, his body has run out of fuel and is coasting to a halt. It is out of his hands … But there is one thing he can finish, one thing he can leave resolved. It feels as though it takes him half an hour to say it … slow and sonorous … Se - ve - rus … pl - ea - se … ~*~ In the twinkling of an eye … His vision dims, and images retreat into nothingness. Everything shrinks to a single point of light. Green light. It starts as a pin prick, then for an eon it rushes towards him in a roar. Suddenly, it explodes and fills his vision and there is nothing but the sparkling radiance of that green light. Then it is black. He is rocked, cradled like a baby. There is warmth and comfort and life in the dark. He feels utterly safe. The darkness brings with it a deep and abiding silence, within as well as without. The thump of his heart is gone. Even the throb of blood through his veins is no more. Speech has no meaning, for now all meaning is in merely being. Now he understands. It occurs to him as it never had before: he is free. He feels it. Free from the heaviness of the world, free from the limits of his body. His magic, his very life power, is released. Every spell he ever cast, every charm he uttered, every counter-curse he threw, rushes forth in a giant wave of energy and is gone. He soars high into the air and hovers while the mist of that green luminescence slowly draws him out of the darkness. As vision comes back to him he sees himself fall to the ground. He looks with fondness on his servant's form as it floats down, that faithful accomplice through life, now aged and spent. He sends it a blessing of gratitude. ~*~ In the twinkling of an eye … From his vantage point, he scans the castle and grounds beneath him. The world too is shrouded in silence. There are figures running, walking, wandering, stumbling – all in silence. There are explosions, fire, spells helter-skelter – all in silence. There is wailing, shouting, crying – all in silence. He sees his empty shell, forlorn and misshapen upon the earth, and immediately he is beside it. He reaches out with peace and closes its eyes. How kindly he feels towards this dear friend, his body. How glad that it can now rest. In peace. He remains there while people gather: his sweet, brave children. His sweetest, bravest child kneels opposite, across the body from him, and unwittingly expresses his love; straightening the spectacles, dabbing the face clean, gazing in incomprehension. He will not be moved. Until a sweet, soft sound pierces the silence. "Harry, come on." Slowly and silently, they disperse. After many eternal moments, he hears the song calling him, the phoenix song that has been his comfort his whole life long. He goes to join it, leaving his shell in the hands of the faithful giant. The one to whom he would entrust his life. ~*~ In the twinkling of an eye … The song sends him into their midst – those gathered in the name of the phoenix. He sees them twice – as they see themselves, and as they truly are. They are battered, torn, bloodied, and despondent. But in reality they are courageous, strong, beautiful and compassionate. If he could take away their pain he would. He calls it to himself but it will not come. They cannot relinquish it. Fight the good fight, my faithful ones. You cannot lose. I know, now, that you cannot lose. Your labour is not in vain – you will win this peace, this knowing and this love. It is with you now, around you and within you. Hold fast to it, my friends. You cannot lose. ~*~ In the twinkling of an eye … This place stirs a dim recollection. Ah, this was home, once. Voices of a thousand years reverberate in the room, chasing each other in circles of counsel and discipline, wisdom and guidance. His canvas image reflects the peace that he now knows, while his colleagues, his comrades, his dear, dear friends are frantic, as though his passing is a crisis. My dear, dear friends. How I shall miss you all. Brave hearts, each one of you. All shall be well, my friends, all manner of thing shall be well. ~*~ In the twinkling of an eye … His body is laid out, away from prying eyes, undergoing preparation for entombment. The gentle giant's ministrations are like the tender caresses bestowed on a baby. He guards the body night and day. Will let none disturb it. No one else knows where it is, though they cannot stop thinking of him. There is one, enclosed in the curtains of her bed, softly crying though she is not sure why. There another, quietly pushing his meal around his plate, stewing in confusion. Here are some yelling, throwing harsh words at one another for no reason they can remember. Here are a few with arms around one another, supporting one another with friendship and care. There is one sitting beneath a tree, and here is another in the library, idly turning the pages of a book. He sees their colours, his children's. Swirls of red, green, yellow, blue – encompassing each one and flowing in vivid harmony through the school. The colours of light refract around each child, wrapping them in cloaks of comfort. Around the halls, through the corridors, they meld in an ever-changing rainbow of light and cry gentle tears upon the children like a fine summer shower. ~*~ In the twinkling of an eye … A song is coursing through his veins where his blood used to flow. It is his friends from the deep. The merpeople's threnody is sadness and joy, loss and hope. It is a gift he will carry with him for eternity. Knowing is different now. It is not a mind-matter, it is an essence-matter. His essence knows. Feeling, hearing and seeing cannot explain this new sense that he has, this Knowing. He looks upon the crowd gathered around him. He knows each person here – feels, hears and sees them in their essence. And he loves each one; frail though they are; flawed as they are. It matters not what is in their hearts or how they feel about him. He cannot help but love each one. There was an inkling of that love before, he recalls. But it is so easy now to love, it is his very nature, and he can do nothing but love them. Then they fade from his sight and, like a Pensieve, image after image begins to swirl about him … Stoking up the cauldron for porridge. Singing carols round the tree. Visiting Diagon Alley for the very first time. Sitting beneath the Sorting Hat. Flying around the Quidditch hoops. Laughing in the common room. Taking exams. Learning. Dancing. Teaching. Fighting. Planning. Duelling. Rescuing. Faster and faster, a sesquicentenary of words, deeds, thoughts and feelings flash before him. Face after face, place after place, spell after spell. Searching. Hunting. Questioning. Guiding. Lampposts. Owls. Forests. Hallways. A cave, a lake, a potion, a boy. Each image asks: Judge for yourself. Do you regret any of these? Would you change anything? A tower, a boy, a friend, a flash. Would you come back, if you could? He looks again on the assembly and sees that they already have what they need. The courage, strength and wisdom. The love. There is nothing more he can give that they do not already possess. They have only to find it. Would you come back, if you could? There is nothing more he can give. My dear friends, how I shall miss you all. Be steadfast. All shall be well, my friends, all manner of thing shall be well. The white-hot flames of life engulf him. On the wings of the centaurs' salute he soars, like a phoenix, into the sun. ~*~ In the twinkling of an eye … Everything shrinks to a single point of light. Green light. Suddenly, it explodes and he is filled with the sparkling radiance of that green light. Then it is black. He is rocked, cradled like a newborn in the warmth and comfort of the dark. Utterly safe. The centaur salute pierces his heart and a phoenix soars into the sun. In the twinkling of an eye … he embarks on the next great adventure.
THE BEGINNING
Listen, I will tell you a mystery! We will not all die, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. ~ 1 Corinthians 15.51–52
|