Harry, you stood there in the snow all day. Did you let it slip away? Has he gone with all those we have left behind?

There was a story in his eyes. You saw it then. His was a lifetime of mysteries, ending with a last shock of power, glazed by a reality of weakness. You witnessed the love and sacrifice, but it was a long story, full of tales you would never know. Of all that haunted you, it was that moment; forever and instantaneous, it burned into your very soul.

All the other deaths seemed to blur together in a series of winding, blending flashes. You saw Sirius falling into nothingness, but it was hazy and dark. Following him, those you loved were ripped away in shadowed memory. Like grasping at water, those memories fell apart and slipped through your mind's grasp. Only his eyes could penetrate the foggy realm, happening so quickly and so sharp that once it made you bolt upright in your bed. In your moonlit room you felt like he was there.

You have had many burdens to bear in your young life, but this one was the sharpest. This one hurt the most. How many times did you contemplate the chain of events that had removed those you loved from your life? How many times did you see the fatal cause? How many times did you dwell on your mistakes? Yet for his death, there remained no alternative; you could never have prevented it. The choice was his.

Therein lies the mystery that ended the story in his eyes. Even if you pondered it forever, you would never fully understand the scope of his sacrifice.

Who was he, really? All that was in his eyes, like a sea of time, reflected on the last little wave--his love for you. You could not have changed that, and you could never understand it. Of all the chapters in the story in his eyes, why were you the most important?

Why were you the one to witness his eyes burn and grow cold?

You wondered if that moment would last forever. You wondered how long those eyes would seep through the mist of memories.

Would you feel sad forever? Would you question his sacrifice again? Would you insist on retracing events to find your guilt?

How could you find release and let him slide into the fading meld of memory?

You stood there, hoping for an answer. Your breath came out in white clouds, mingling with snowflakes. Standing before the school's iron gates, you stared at the place you called home for seven years. Your feet were in Hogsmeade but your heart was inside those castle walls. You were in a dusty, ticking office, in a mess of broken contraptions watching him cry. You wanted to take back being angry.

You wished that he were still there.

It was then, that you knew what you must do to let go. You had to say his name.

Pulling your icy hands from the frozen bars of the gate, you thrust them deep into your pockets. The air was frigid as you took a deep breath and let it out again, watching your breath mingle with whirling white flakes.

It felt like the last word of a story. Another time, another place–you would close the book and put it on the shelf. The story would blend into your memory and would fade.

You watched the lights twinkle in the castle windows, broken by the flurries of white.

You rocked a little, and thrust your hands deeper into your pockets.

You took another cold breath and held it in.

Breathing out in a mist, you spoke his name.

"Dumbledore."

A long while passed before you left. The gray sky grew dim, and night fell. One by one the castle lights blinked out. You pulled out your wand and said, "Lumos." In the glow, the dark shape of the school beyond faded. You turned away, and with that fluid motion you felt him fade into your memory; and when you tried to grasp him, he slipped liked water.