The Dream is Collapsing

There were few times in life when all that was needed was a little peace and quiet. When the stress became too much any man could break. Invincibility was a foolish concept, one Aaron did not delude himself with. For as long as there had been man, there had been people trying to figure out how to prolong their lives. Immortality was the dream of most, but a dream that would never be answered.

Aaron accepted that his life would end one day. Whether it be of natural causes or by the hand of another being, he did not know. He refused to waste his life away chasing dreams of ever lasting life, no, instead he focused on something else. Immortality did not always mean staying alive forever. Many witches and wizards were still worshiped or feared across the world for what they accomplished while they were alive.

That was his goal. To be remembered for thousands of years to come. He had thought about it for a long time. How to accomplish it, when to accomplish it, and what tools it would take to get there. Should he be a hero? A man who was remembered for his brave deeds and noble actions? Or should he be a villain? Remembered for the sheer level of death he radiated wherever he went.

He let out a sigh and he opened his eyes. He opened his hands and faced them palm up, staring at them like they were not his. How much had he changed since he was a child? From simple days of running around the grounds of Hogwarts without a worry in the world, to recruiting people who shared the same "ideals" as he did. He chuckled at the thought, none of them believed the way he did. He only pretended to so that they would follow him.

His life was nothing but a lie. A huge lie that entangled his entire existence. It had become who he was, and he almost hated it. His plans, did he really believe in them, or was he doing it just because he had convinced himself it was the only way? Bloodshed, despair, lonliness, it was all he had become. He could not remember the last time he smiled at something and meant it. The idea, it was becoming who he was. He was not even a person anymore, but instead, a man who was obsessed with proving a point. A point he had already lost sight of in the first place.

He looked up into the sky and he stared there for a few moments. Maybe he would just be killed before it could even start? That would be OK with him, he was tired of what he was doing anyways. So tired.....

Jack came to this place of remembered tragedy more often than was healthy really. She was glad she no longer had a trained therapist trying to befriend her, because had he found out, he would have made sure she had an appointment. He would have said she was fixed on this place, and that there were issues to be addressed. And if he said that, Jack would have had to worm her way out of meeting with him.

She was not obssessed. Jack came once a week to pay her respects. That was all. She would come and water the trees, polish the plaques, paint the gazebo where the color had begun to chip; she hexed away weeds and strengthened the color of flowers loved ones had left; she protected it against litter and vandalism. People who had caught her there always asked if she was the caretaker. It seemed no one could reason that any someone would vlounatrily and freely take care of this place. But they didn't understand.

She was the reason this place existed.

It might have been foolish to feel personally responsible for the death of each of the fallen represented in the garden; but it was not so foolish considering she was the one that had, moreorless, instigated the battle in which they all died. Jack felt responsible, therefore, she acted responsible. She could never be talked out of it, because she refused to talk about it.

She finished the watering, doing it by hand, because it felt right that way. She summoned a rag and worked her way into the mutli level gazebo, polishing the plagues on her way up, her eyes down as she focused. This was the most amount of cleaning she did, being adverse to domestic tasks, typically using her wand to eradicate mess. But she worked her way upwards, to the very top, and it was only then that she realized she was not alone.

She knew the man, but really she knew little. For all she knew, associating with him could cause another garden to come into place, seeing as the shaky and potentially-dangerous alliance was of their crafting. But so far it was fine, and thus far she was simply relieved to meet someone who shared the same belief in their faction- a reluctant association.

She reached the top and strode over next to him, polishing the plague that rested on the beam next to him. "The air up is here is the best on all of Hogsmeade," she mentioned.

He let his thoughts wander around for a few more seconds, trying his hardest to not let the feelings of despair and loneliness consume him too deeply. It all came to an abrupt end when he heard a voice. His eyes snapped opened and he looked up at the women he knew as Jack. It was a nickname but everyone called her that.

He knew little of her besides the fact that she was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. A trusted member and the person who he had spoken to about arranging the whole Death Eater and Order peace treaty. Outside of that he knew very little of her besides what he had found out in their brief interactions.

He smirked and laughed lightly at her comment and then averted his gaze away from her for a few moments, thinking on what she said. She was right, the air up here was nice. That was why he found himself there in the first place. "Some of the best in all of London if you ask me." He said quietly before he looked back at her.

"What moment in your life brought you here?" He asked casually, prodding her brain with questions trying to get a better fix on her. "I mean, what brought you to be the person who is responsible for cleaning this place?" He pointed at her as she polished the plaque in front of them so that she knew what he was talking about.

Jack dipped her head, twisting the corner of her mouth at his words, still foxused on polishing this plaque. Someone had stubbed out their cigarette on it, several times, and the ash was worse than any sort of grime. She felt exasperation feel her body and her jaw clenched, angry that someone saw the name of someone who no longer had any choices, let alone where they could stub out their cigarettes, and still they chose to desecrate the plaque.

She wrung the rag and began working off the ash, making sure that all traces of ash and grime were completely gone. Quick, tight circles. She had learned from Riley, her brother. He was a clean freak. Her mother and father never had time, nor the will, to clean, but if a drop of something fell on the counter, there Riley was, cleaning.

Aaron's words did not stop her; she had struck gum. She pulled a small chisel from her pocket, having encountered this problem before. She chipped away and thought about it, before she finally said, "Messes are easiest to clean after the fact. It'd be more prudent to try to clean up before, but I wasn't wise enough. Messes don't clean easily. They stain. I can't get rid of it, but maybe I can fix it, just enough."