The moment I saw the hatch close behind Albert and Henry, I felt as though my entire body had been replaced by an unfillable void. I couldn’t shake the image of Albert’s smiling face from my mind.

‘He looks just like you, Dad,’ I said, gazing up into the sky.

A part of me wished that he was watching me at that moment. Watching what I was doing. Guiding me. Feeling immensely proud of the things I had done since he’d left. He hadn’t been killed by Amy, but rather he had died thirty-one years ago in his sleep. He was Albert’s namesake. Albert Raymond Santrrer. The more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t ignore the similarities between my dad and grandson. Even though they had never met, Albert appeared to be an exact copy of his great-grandfather, just seventy-seven years younger.

I thought back to all of the other people that I had lost, too. All of the other people that I had failed to protect. My mummy, my wife, my children, and my grandchildren. My mummy’s death was arguably the worse. Amy hadn’t murdered her before she targeted Albert, as she had with everybody else. After Albert survived Amy’s attack, we all presumed that my mummy was safe. She was not. Four days after Albert’s miraculous survival, she was wrenched from me just like everybody else had been.

Images flashed through my mind as I gazed up at the sky, hoping that my parents were watching my every move. Everything I did was to make them proud. I didn’t do anything without considering what they would think of it beforehand. And it hurt. Everywhere I went, everyone would compare me to my dad. They said I led like him. Looked like him. Spoke like him. Was him.

There were days when the only thing that powered me out of bed in the mornings was the cold realisation that I had to protect Albert before he was taken from me like everybody else. But still, I was managing. Just barely, but I was managing. I did not know how much longer I could actually last, but I hoped that it would at least be long enough. Long enough to protect Albert. I had failed that night ten years ago; I couldn’t let myself fail again. I couldn’t bring myself to.

I stared up into the cold winter sky.

‘Eileen,’ I murmured, letting a cold tear fall down my cheek, ‘not a single day has gone by where I haven’t thought of you.’

I knew she could not hear me. I knew it. But I had to say it. Some part of me desperately hoped that she could. Hoped that she, too, was watching me. Watching me raise our grandson as though he were my own child. It was a fruitless hope. Just because I wanted something to happen didn’t mean it would. Life didn’t work that way, no matter how hard it was to accept that.

Another tear fell to the floor beneath me.

'I can’t take this much longer, Mummy.’

I began to wonder how my dad had managed. He had only been Prime Minister for ten years, whilst I had held the position for fifteen years across two terms. The people regarded him as a kind, collected old man. A strong-willed leader that cared both about caring for his people and dealing with his enemies. He was one of the City’s favourite Prime Ministers. If I could go down with a legacy like he did, then I would be able to look up from Tartarus in nothing but pride.

I thought back to my wife, and a fresh image sprang to the front of my mind. I again saw her body, young and beautiful, fall to the floor as a stray Killing Curse hit her in the stomach. Her glossy black hair fell gracefully over her face as she descended, a silent scream forever etched into her face. Her brown eyes lifelessly watching the duel that had killed her. My duel.

Amy had arrived at our home just half an hour ago, and the two of us had instantly engaged in combat. Eileen was not a witch, therefore all she could do was watch from the sidelines as I fought desperately to keep the two of us safe. Amy was younger and quicker than I was, so it was only set in stone that I would lose.

‘I’ll kill the both of you!’ I remembered Amy shrieking. ‘Then your daughters, son, and grandchildren! You! I’ll make you wish you had never defied me!’

I remembered vividly that I had shot a jinx at her left leg, permanently damaging it. Ever since that night, the twelfth of March 2009, Amy had had a slight limp in her left leg. I gave her that limp. Nobody else. That had been the one mark I had left her with.

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I watched as the memory came back to me. The memory of Amy’s shrill voice yelling. The memory of me desperately screaming at Eileen to run. The memory of Amy firing a Killing Curse straight at my chest. The memory of me deflecting it seemingly effortlessly with a spell of my own. The memory of me deflecting the spell into my own wife’s stomach.

It had not been a stray Killing Curse. I had thrown it into her stomach. It did not matter whether or not it had been I who had fired the spell, I was the one that killed her. And for the past decade that had been the one thing that continuously haunted me. I had killed my wife. And nothing anybody said or did would change that. Me. I had killed her. My action. If I had just swiped my arm in a different direction then it would never have happened. If I had brought my wand to the right instead, I could have saved her.

I now recognised multiple tears streaming down my face. Silent sobs escaped my mouth as I clenched my fists. My hands shook with a mixture of rage and grief. Some people said that grief only lasted a few months. So tell me, why did mine last ten years?

More faint images flashed through my mind. The image of me drowning my sorrows at the bar. The image of me trying my hardest to keep a smile. The image of me taking a step off of the edge of The Tower, only to be caught by none other than Henry. I had been in a dark place. Now was different, I hoped. After I had heard that Albert was alive and healthy, my health drastically improved. The attempts stopped. My life began. Albert had saved me, it was the least I could do to return the favour.

I had failed to save my family before, and I couldn’t let myself make the same mistake again.

‘Mummy, are you proud?’ I asked once more. I stared up at the cold sky, a harsh breeze jabbed through my whole body. ‘After all I’ve done? Are you glad that I’m your son?’

A shiver ran down my spine and I took a deep breath.

‘I hope that was a ‘yes’.’

More images circled at the front of my mind. I remembered what I had seen when I arrived at the house after Amy had killed Albert’s parents. Edward’s body lying in a heap at the bottom of the tarnished stairs. Catherine’s lying beautifully on the ground next to her son’s burned cot. Doctors swarming the unusually silent baby, who had just watched as his parents were brutally murdered right in front of him.

Then they appeared. Presumably two people from The School. One of them ploughed their titanic fist into the room, flattening the doctors and nurses as I leapt out of the way. The other swung its giant claws towards me as I ducked, causing it to slash the wall. The first, taller one grabbed Albert from his cot and began to run down the street, making huge thuds with its feet. The second one followed immediately afterwards.

I let out a small, shallow breath, pulling myself back into the real world. No, the present. Those memories weren’t fake. They were real, no matter how much I wished against it.

I bitterly thought about how I had cheated death on so many occasions, and in the process, I had just watched as my loved ones hit the ground around me. I shouldn’t have survived my duel with Amy. Nor should I have survived the encounter with those…things…when I had gone to the house after my daughter’s murder. I should be dead.

There was only one thing driving me forward, and that was protecting Albert. The small hope I had that I could protect him was driving me through every single trouble. I saw myself in him. Even if I met Thanatos soon, I had to at least set Albert down his destined path, free him from the cycle. If I couldn’t fight for much longer, I had to make sure that Albert could carry on my will.

‘Cheer up, Steven,’ came a voice from behind me, and it took me a moment to differentiate it from my Mummy’s voice.

Turning, I saw Heather. Her short blond hair was slightly ruffled due to the wind, and her green eyes sparkled with sympathy. She wore a white shirt and a beige waistcoat that wasn’t buttoned up at the front. She awkwardly smiled as I turned around, and although I appreciated the fact that she had come to check on me, I was beginning to grow quite annoyed with the frequency at which people interrupted my thought trains.

‘What do you mean, Heather?’ I responded nonchalantly.

She raised her eyebrows slightly. ‘Come on. Anybody would be able to tell that you’re upset.’

‘Do you think he can do it?’ I asked, turning back to look up at the sky.

‘He will,’ she replied sternly. ‘And I swear by the Gods if he doesn’t then we’re going to have a strong word.’

I chuckled softly. ‘A strong word?’

‘Yeah, why not?’ she said, walking forwards to stand next to me.

I coughed. ‘He’s just a kid, is it really alright to force him into this world?’

‘He hasn’t been forced, Steven,’ Heather assured me. ‘This has been his world ever since he was born.’

‘His world?’

‘His world.’

‘Did you see how he fought Amy a month ago?’ I asked even though I knew the answer.

‘No,’ she replied slowly. ‘But I did hear. He tried to cut her head off with a flaming sword, right?’

‘Yeah…’ I sighed. ‘He reminds me so much of my- me.’

Heather slightly raised her eyebrow before quickly resetting her face back to normal.

‘Steven, you just need to stop worrying, he’ll do this. He’ll end this. All of it.’

‘But without me?’ I said, holding back tears.

‘Excuse me?’ she said, scandalised. ‘What do you mean without you?’

I looked at her. She looked at me. We stood in silence. She knew. I knew.

‘Don’t be stupid. You’ll be the one that goes to his funeral,’ she said, turning her back to me and walking over to the hatch. ‘And don’t you dare forget it.’

‘Great,’ I murmured as she disappeared below. ‘Just another family member to lose.’