One such character that I have come to meet is Albus Dumbledore. In fact, Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore. It is through J K Rowling’s magical Harry Potter Series that one can meet this great man.
Believed to have been born in the 1850’s, Dumbledore was an extremely talented wizard. His uncommon, often awe-provoking talents is best described by an elderly witch who tested him at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dumbledore is said to have done things which his examiner had never seen done with a wand before. And this was when he was hardly fifteen. It is not surprising that we learn that Dumbledore defeats the dark wizard Grizenwald in 1945.
Dumbledore in many ways is the Einstein and Newton combined, a man of enormous brainpower and extraordinarily thought-instilling intellect. He was offered the post of Minister of Magic on many occasions, but he did not take it. For a great mind is never drawn towards the travesty of holding power.
Dumbledore is also the only wizard that Voldemort ( the darkest, most evil wizard of all times) always feared. Dumbledore protects Harry Potter ever since he becomes an orphan. As headmaster at Hogwarts, he ensures that Harry is prepared for his decisive encounter with Voldemort.
But I never thought of having to bid Dumbledore goodbye. But it happened. In the sixth book, Dumbledore is greatly weakened after destroying one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. That apparently is one clue as to what happens to him at the end of the book, even if one discounts Sybill Trelawney’s card omens and Harry Potter’s own suspicions.
So as I sat on my bed flipping through the last few pages of the sixth book, I read to my horror that Dumbledore is killed by Severus Snape, an odd man whom I never liked. Dumbledore was dead. I wouldn’t believe it. A few pages on, I read about Dumbledore’s burial and I still wouldn’t believe it. In fact, I was so outraged that I walked up to my sister and told her rather tartly that Dumbledore was not dead.
Only a month later, many websites had appeared all supporting theories which said that he was not dead, and that he would return in the seventh book. My own hopes were raised even further, and I thought I would definitely see him again in the seventh book.
But I was wrong. Like a jolt from a blue sky, Rowling confirmed a few months ago that Dumbledore was ‘definitely dead’, and that we must not expect him to ‘do another Gandalf’. I swore against Rowling in a manner that I’d never sworn before.
He would not return. He had gone. Dumbledore was no more. Before I had to sink in what I’d just read, tears were flowing thick and fast onto my lap. I couldn’t help it, for I felt a strange sense of loss, that something valuable and noble had left me. I was sitting there, crying for the first time after a gap of what seemed ages.
Dumbledore, in many ways represented everything that is good in this world. He was courteous and simple, yet powerful and brave. He vouched for the incomparable power of love over any spell or incantation in the world. He helped so many people in his lifetime, and was in every way, one of the greatest men the wizarding world has ever come to see.
In the years that I have read Rowling’s books, Dumbledore had become almost a grandfather to me. He may be fictional and cease to exist in the real world, but I will always remember him. I’ve been put under some odd kind of spell (however surreal you many think this is) that’ll make me remember him for a very long time to come.
Dumbledore was one of the few wizards how could conjure the Grubrathian Fire, or the everlasting fire that would burn endlessly. A part of Dumbledore’s Grubrathian Fire exists in my heart.