Snape received Sterling's gift first thing in the morning. He didn't have many presents, so he immediately spotted that elegant potion bottle nestled among the sparse collection on his desk.
Shampoo. Lily-scented shampoo.
The familiar fragrance hit him like a physical blow, memories threatening to surface before he ruthlessly suppressed them. Why would Sterling use lily fragrance? Had he sensed something about old matters that should remain buried?
Snape rarely ventured to the Great Hall for breakfast, but today he'd planned to corner Sterling the moment the boy appeared, to probe whether he knew things he shouldn't. Instead, he found himself staring at Dumbledore's still-warm, empty chair.
Who knew what that potion-desecrating maniac was up to, actually capable of bursting into the staff table and dragging the headmaster away like some deranged hurricane?
Sterling's eyes had seemed red-rimmed too. Not that Snape cared about that particular lunatic.
Better to assume the boy had been moved to tears of regret after seeing the exquisite potion book Snape had sent him, overwhelmed by the precise brewing steps. That thought improved his mood considerably.
Snape methodically ate his toast, savouring the bitter irony.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore found himself being dragged through corridors, trying desperately to swallow half-chewed bread. Quite difficult for an old man of his years.
The bread was already dry as parchment. He'd planned to wash it down with milk, but just as he'd taken that first bite, before he could reach his cup, Sterling had grabbed him with surprising strength.
"Cough, cough. Sterling, you need to consider an old man's constitution..." Dumbledore wheezed between breaths. "Perhaps we could change methods of transportation?"
He was nearly running himself breathless!
"Sorry, Professor Dumbledore. I just..." Sterling's voice cracked with urgency. "Could we go to my dormitory first?"
Dumbledore had no reason to refuse such a request. He nodded, agreeing to bring Sterling whatever news he sought before noon.
"Fawkes."
The golden-red phoenix materialised on Dumbledore's shoulder the instant he called, affectionately nuzzling his silver hair with warm feathers.
Space folded under ancient magic. Sterling had barely steadied himself when he pulled Dumbledore toward his dormitory, fingers trembling as he opened the door. With a flick of his wand, Sterling levitated all the colourful gifts from the floor, pointing beneath his bed.
"Professor Dumbledore, is there anything here?"
Sterling's voice carried a desperate edge that made Dumbledore's heart ache.
"Through my special vision, I can sense something exists here, but I can't see or touch it."
Dumbledore watched with growing alarm as Sterling's hand seemed to "pass through" empty air, his fingers distorting like an illusion upon contact with something invisible.
"I can't touch it."
"Oh? But there's clearly an iron box here." Dumbledore stared intently for several moments to ensure he wasn't mistaken. Just an ordinary iron box without the slightest magical fluctuation, sitting plain as day on the floor.
"I can't see it. To my eyes, there's nothing on the floor. And look..."
Sterling's mouth moved, but no sound emerged when he tried to speak a certain name.
"I can't hear what you're saying about Andrew. Actually, I've completely forgotten such a person and everything related to him."
Dumbledore's expression grew grave. "Remember what I told you about Voldemort's Killing Curse?"
"This is a rare situation. Reminds me of some troubling memories, but it's different. Only regarding you personally, this seems more thorough than even the Ultimate Killing Curse's forgetting effects."
"You mean..." Sterling covered his mouth, understanding dawning in his eyes like a terrible sunrise.
Dumbledore quickly explained: "Andrew Dept." He repeated the name clearly. "Your... what's wrong?"
Sterling fell silent for a long time, tears streaming down his face, though he seemed unsure why. Dumbledore watched him continuously, half-moon glasses hiding unexpressed pity.
Dumbledore harboured vague suspicions about Andrew's identity. He believed Sterling must have reached the same painful conclusion.
Family. Perhaps the only family Sterling had ever known.
How could he feel emotions toward someone he'd completely forgotten? Only bodily memory proved more solid than conscious thought, still producing appropriate reactions to a name that should mean everything.
"Of course, child. Let me catch my breath first."
Dumbledore nimbly opened the box and extracted a bundle of letters, their edges worn from frequent handling. He checked the dates; the latest was from before Halloween.
"All the letters Andrew sent you."
Dumbledore placed a letter in Sterling's trembling hand. It passed straight through his fingers like mist, falling to the floor with a soft whisper.
"Professor Dumbledore, could you please check my home?"
The words came out broken, filled with a loss Sterling couldn't even fully comprehend.
Dumbledore nodded gravely. The only possibility for such targeted problems was something specifically affecting Sterling. Voldemort's Killing Curse possessed forgetting characteristics because he used it to channel one facet of true Death Magic's power.
True Death Magic's forgetting was far more terrifying than Voldemort's crude imitation. This was likely what Sterling now experienced.
"The Ultimate Killing Curse can make people subconsciously ignore things related to the cursed target, but that's merely psychological suggestion. It couldn't make something invisible right before your eyes, much less untouchable."
Dumbledore's voice carried centuries of weary knowledge.
Forgetting was indeed the most terrifying enemy of all.
Sterling wrapped himself in blankets later that evening, peripherally noticing the constantly flashing communication badge by his bed. His expression darkened, but ultimately he couldn't bring himself to answer Terry and the others' cheerful holiday messages.
As for Dumbledore, the moment he left Sterling's sight, he sighed longer and deeper than he had in decades.
The strangest detail haunted him: all instances of "Andrew Dept" in the letters bore black marks beside them, as if something had once covered the name before leaving behind these shadow-stains.
Dumbledore left Sterling alone with his grief, placing only an alchemical figure that could read letters aloud. But Sterling could barely process the automated voice recounting memories he could no longer access.
Sterling's most special aspect had always been his connection to Avalon.
Dumbledore gently touched the Elder Wand in his pocket, one of the three Deathly Hallows, as understanding began to dawn.
Avalon. Always, it came back to Avalon.
(TL NOTE: Yeah, this chapter confused me too...)