The cold was biting despite it being early December. Arcturus' boots made a slightly audible crunching as he walked, gloved hands tucked deep in his coat pockets and breathing mist, staring on ahead absently.
It was early enough for the thin layer of frost on the pavement to not have melted. The roads were silent, the cars lining the pavements powdered with white dusting from the night. Arcturus shuddered, drawing his coat tighter around himself instinctively as he blinked. It was as if he could feel the frost forming on his very eyelashes.
The dry air made him cough a little. The sounds of his hacking echoed down the street, but it was of no significance to him. No one, Muggles or wizardfolk alike, was around. Even if they peered out through their curtains right now, a lone man making his way along a road was nothing to be scared about.
Eight in the morning on a Sunday, a lone man walking down the street. While the residents of the houses surrounding him slumbered or had their lie-ins, Arcturus was making his way to Acton Cemetery. He trudged on, looking mostly down at the pavement, yet gazing at the stone unseeingly.
In the morning silence, the clacking of the Tube trains were loud, crisp and clear. Within a few minutes, he stepped onto the bridge that arched over the train lines
[1]; he gazed over the wall as he walked. He'd always had an interest in trains, especially since he had ridden the Hogwarts Express for seven years of his life. Muggle trains mystified him all the more; he could never quite understand how they ran without magic.
Once he'd passed the bridge, the rest of the walk was a blur right up until he opened the gate and stepped into the silent cemetery. Even in this place of rest, though, the trains still rattled in the distance. His mother had told him the "Central" line passed straight through the cemetery
[2]. Arcturus had never managed to figure out why it was called "Central". Muggles and their funny names.
He strolled along the path until he came to a tree standing nearby. Arcturus quietly turned onto the grass and walked past the tree, towards a little area where an isolated group of graves stood. These graves Muggles did not see, but could not cross - Muggle-Repelling Charm
[3], the same Charm put on places like the Quidditch stadium. Only magical folk like he could see them, and for good reason.
Arcturus walked between the tombstones, forever standing to attention for those that lay beneath the ground. He nodded to them one by one until he reached the one he was looking for. The one he always visited.
Every Sunday, at eight in the morning, for eleven years.
As he knelt down in front of the stone, trains clacked past again. He chuckled softly as he wiped the grime off the tombstone's epitaph with his thumb.
"I'm surprised you can sleep with that ruckus going on, Allie," he said gently to the stone. "How can you even stand it? If I were in your place, I'd have gotten up and relocated myself out of sheer frustration."
He straightened up and looked at the tombstone with a slight wistful smile on his face. The epitaph upon it, free of the weathered grime now, would always read the same as it had for eleven years:
Auror ~ Sister ~ Daughter
In memory of Alethea Lydia Hollingbury
July 26 1974 - August 1 1997
"She thought of others ever, herself never. We can't forget."
It didn't matter how many times he visited her grave, the quote on the stone was enough to make his heart lodge itself in his throat. He swallowed and took deep breaths. It was a bit too early for that.
"Even if you relocated yourself, I'd still find a way to visit you every Sunday morning," he told the silent stone. "I'm probably more persistent than the sound of the trains, but then again you wouldn't mind, would you?"
He heaved a sigh of peace. Yes it was definitely bloody chilly, but right now he couldn't have asked for more tranquility. Away from people, away from work, away from noise and even his Kneazle. He dearly loved the fuzzball, but sometimes he just wanted to have time on his own.
"It's been a busy week. I've had to deal with the usual. Sometimes the memories just come flooding back, it's really hard to stop them. I suppose I could have them removed, but...I have such a love-hate relationship with them." He looked at the stone. "You know what I mean. Those memories with your friends, all mixed in with the memories of war and death.
"But there's always a silver lining in those memories of war and death. You remember your friends protecting you and each other, supporting each other and being there." He adjusted himself and sat down cross-legged on the slightly frosty grass in front of the grave. "I wonder if you've ever thought that way and had your coworkers save your skin on occasion."
After a moment's quiet in which he absently played with the grass, he added, "You were always so prudent to never mention any of your work to us, though. I'll be honest, you became intimidating because of that. You held so many secrets that we never knew of. Possible dangers, potential disasters."
Arcturus gazed at the stone. "Even now, you still feel so grown up to me." His tone was soft, a little reproachful. "I don't feel like I've grown up at all, Allie. Is it normal for me to feel that way? Maybe you would know the answer better than I do.
"In a month's time, I'll be thirty years old
[4]. It doesn't feel any different, let me tell you that. I'm not even sure if anyone will remember it's my birthday, but it's not like it matters. The world doesn't stop for the day one person was born."
Arcturus sighed, slumping a little and leaning his chin against his hand. "Depressing when you think about it, but that's how it works. That's how it always works...you owe no one nothing, they owe you nothing, it's just you. Alone."
His words, while still being aimed at the stone, seemed to disappear into thin air. Funny how insignificant words had become when he was talking to a stone. Arcturus sat in silence facing the stone for a while, staring unseeingly at the base of the tombstone.
At length, he looked up at the epitaph. "I didn't finish what I was talking about this week, did I? Well, I had to deal with an addict
[5]...oh, I still have some Honeydukes fudge from my last trip to Hogsmeade
[6]. I haven't forgotten about the day you got them for me.
"I found your journal too. I just haven't summoned enough courage to read past the sections that I was allowed to read
[7]. It's really odd that you'd leave the book there for me, as if you knew you were going to die." He shrugged dismissively. "Then again, you've always been the most organised person in the family. Any chance you could tell me what's past the pages without me having to read them myself?"
Like all other questions addressed to the stone, this one went unanswered, disappearing into thin air once he had spoken. Arcturus went on, smiling a little as he talked, without much comment on how odd this looked to an outsider. It didn't matter to him - this was the one place where he could be himself without being plagued by his fear of untrustworthy individuals.
"I guess you wouldn't, not even if you were here. You've always told me to 'do it myself'. And I've learned many things from doing things on my own, so I've always cherished that advice from you.
"I've met quite a few new faces lately. I know, right? Me, talking to strangers?" He laughed, the sound for a moment giving a little life to the cemetery. "But hey, I can do it given the chance. I just gotta learn how to make my face actually look like my current emotion. People keep reading me wrong because I'm so hesitant about showing my feelings."
Arcturus scratched his head a little. "I can't blame them for that. It's not their fault that I act the way I am. Just...give me a second chance, that's all I ask."
He looked at the stone in front of him, and smiled in amusement. "Knowing you, though, you'd just tell me to get it right on the first try. I know, I know. I'm trying."
Silence fell across the cemetery once again. This time it stayed for two hours or so. Arcturus spent most of this time gazing at the sky, sitting next to the stone, or cleaning the grave a little.
"I'm sorry I didn't bring you flowers like I always do," he murmured as he cleaned away the weeds. "It's December. You know the flowers will just die too quickly."
A memory came back to him then, and he smiled in nostalgia. "Hey, remember that game we used to play as kids? Where we'd give each other 'mental flowers'," here he did the quotation marks with his hands, "and tried to guess what flowers we'd given each other? But you know that I always bring you your favourite flowers now. Can't guess anymore, I'm afraid." He patted the stone. "Too easy."
He sat back to admire his handiwork for a moment, and then checked his watch. It was ten.
"I'll have to go soon, Allie, just got an hour left." He reached out and gripped the stone by the corner. "Gotta go back in time for lunch. Rustle will want feeding, too - he still remembers you. Sometimes I find him curled up on your bed. Makes me feel a bit bad for shooing him off, but Mum's rules are rules."
He patted the stone again. For a while, his smile remained on his face, but it slowly faded away as the minutes passed. He really didn't want this time to end. It was the only time where he could talk to someone - well, something - about what he really felt. Every Sunday, as eleven drew near, he felt the overwhelming sadness of leaving the one place that comforted him.
And yet what a comfort it was - a comfort that eventually gave him heartache. Because he knew, in the end, whatever he believed here was just pretence. Here he was talking to a stone like it was alive, about things that he should be telling his parents. About his emotions, upon which he was divided. About his life, when he had friends.
This was the moment where reality slowly flowed back into its rightful place. The time where he could be himself was ending, and he didn't want it to end.
"I'll be back next Sunday, as always," he said to the stone. It was difficult - his heart had decided to slide all the way back up his throat when he wasn't looking. "You know I'll always be back. You know I'll always be here."
The tombstone blurred in his eyes. Arcturus made no move to stop the blurring, though he swallowed in an effort to keep talking steadily. It didn't make much of a difference. "I'll be back, Allie." He leaned his forehead against the stone, closing his eyes, whispering. "I'll be back."
A cemetery always has the sensation of silence, not of a lack of sound, but from the existence of long forgotten memories and love left behind. For now, though, this one had its silence broken by soft, lonely sobs that echoed faintly.
No matter how many people he had surrounded himself with, he always felt lonely. No one to share the burden. No one to lessen the pain. No one to teach him to trust again.
Eventually the sobs dwindled away. Arcturus wiped his eyes, taking care to remove any traces of his emotional release. He was experienced enough to put his mask back on within minutes.
And then he was gone, walking back down the path towards the gate of the cemetery, not a glance over his shoulder as he left the silent gravestone that was always the witness to his true self. Perhaps it could be said that in his fight to keep himself from the pain of his emotions, he left his true identity behind at this stone every Sunday.
But who knows the truth? All they would ever know that even after eleven years, taking care of people who needed his help, he had yet to end the grieving.
[Dec 6] Here Lies My Memory [Oneshot]