The End of All Things

Author's Note: I got some criticism for The Wish List because Harry's old house was intact. My reasoning being that the house probably had some “fix itself” kinds of spells on it, and anyway, I needed it intact for the story to work. For this one though, having Harry's house in a shambles fits, therefore it's a pile of rubble. Don't you just love artistic license?

Those of you who read my first story, Soul Schism (which I can't read these days without cringing) may recognize some similarities. Again, you don't need to read it to understand this story. In fact, I would prefer that you didn't.

Chapter 8: No spell can reawaken the dead…

Dumbledore reached across to Professor McGonagall's desk, picked up the blood-stained silver sword, and handed it to Harry. Dully, Harry turned it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. And then he saw the name engraved just below the hilt.

Godric Gryffindor.

"Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Harry," said Dumbledore simply.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, “Dobby's Reward,” first paperback edition, American edition, pages 333-334.

....

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that—that school—and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, “The Keeper of the Keys,” first paperback edition, American edition, page 53.

Godric's hollow took the trio by surprise.

At the top of a hill overlooking a small valley, the ruins of an estate could be seen through the fog. A sign bearing the legend, “Godric's Hollow” was lying in the weeds by the side of the dirt road. The sign had obviously been there for some time, and, though no one wanted to say it, they could think of only one reason it would have been left there.

No one had any reason to fix it.

Harry took a deep breath, then started briskly down the hill, Ron and Hermione following. He didn't stop until he came to the ruins of a gate and stone wall, bordering what must have been the front of the property. Harry climbed carefully over the rusted iron, offering his hand to his friends in turn as they followed.

Hermione glanced around the landscape. As far as she could tell, the house had been completely destroyed, whether by the magical battle that had taken place nearly sixteen years ago, or by time itself. There was nothing left standing, except—

Hermione blinked, rubbed her eyes to make sure it wasn't just the fog, and then said, “Harry, look over there.”

He followed the line of her finger to a dark shape, sticking out of the ground some distance away to their right. Harry headed towards it, Hermione and Ron following.

It looked a bit like the front of an ancient temple; Doric pillars, an iron door set with spikes, triangular lintel, made of white marble, covered with fauna. Hermione thought it looked as though someone had chopped off the front of a Roman building, stuck it in the wilds of England, and forgotten to add the rest of it, for when she walked around the back, she was faced with nothing but a slab of blank, white marble.

“Harry, do you have any idea what this is?”

“The tomb of Godric Gryffindor,” Harry said firmly.

“How do you know…?”

“Because it says so right here.”

Hermione moved back around the structure to see Harry pointing up, in the triangular space on the lintel where carvings normally were.

Sure enough, the engraving read,

Here lies Godric Gryffindor

May all who enter be humbled in his presence.

His blood alone may enter here

With any he deems worthy

“Enter? How? It's just a fancy block of marble,” Ron's input was as blunt as ever.

“Not everything in this world is as it seems, Ron.” Hermione's usual impatient answer made the redhead flinch. “I would think you'd know that, being raised in a wizarding family.”

“So what do you want us to do, open the door, try to walk through it and see what happens?”

“I think that's an excellent idea, Ron.” Harry's quiet tone effectively put an end to the argument.

Both turned to stare at him. Harry stepped forward silently, reached out and began pulling tangles of weeds from the area of the door he was certain would have some sort of handle.

There was no handle, not even a keyhole, only a small, plain, circular hole bored through the stone post, about the height of a doorbell. Briefly, Hermione thought maybe that was what it had been for, until Harry drew out his wand, slid it into the hole, and waited.

With a groan of rusted iron, the door swung open. Instead of a marble wall, they were faced with a wall of blackness that shimmered slightly, as though it had been enchanted.

Without hesitation, Harry stepped through. The darkness felt warm to him, as though a thick blanket had been wrapped around his body. He turned to face his friends, only a little surprised to see both of them looking as though they were contemplating whether it was a good idea to follow.

Can they even see me? he wondered.

“It's all right,” his voice echoed hollowly. He saw his friends jump slightly in surprise, though both turned their gaze to where his voice had come from. I suppose they can't see me. “You can come in.”

“But Harry, the tomb says…” Ron began.

“`His blood alone may enter here, with any he deems worthy,'” Harry recited. “So what are you waiting for?”

Hermione looked up at the engraving over the doorway, then back into the darkness where Harry had disappeared.

It can't be true…

There's only one way to know for sure, her mind taunted her.

Harry's hand emerged from the blackness in front of her. As though in a trance, she put her hand in his, reaching out behind her with the other; she dimly registered Ron taking it, then Harry tugged her gently through. A faint impression of something stretching, then parting, and it was over.

She found herself face to face with Harry, at the start of a narrow passage that sloped downward. The walls seemed to have a luminescent quality; there was no direct light source to be seen, but she could still see clearly for several yards in front of her.

“How did you know the way to open the door?” She probably shouldn't be whispering, but it felt right.

“I don't know.”

“How did you know it would let you through?”

Harry smiled. “You saw the inscription.”

“Does that mean…?”

“Let's make sure first. Though it would explain a lot.”

Caskets. Coffins. Sarcophagi. Whatever names they were given, this was clearly not only Godric Gryffindor's tomb.

Hermione walked slowly up the main isle. She felt like a tourist in an overcrowded funeral home. She reminded herself to show respect. Whether or not these people are Harry's family, they still deserve that, at least.

Harry's family…was Harry really related to Godric Gryffindor? The thought seemed impossible, yet she couldn't help remember something she had once said to Harry, back in their second year: “He lived about a thousand years ago. For all we know, you could be.”

It seemed ironic to her now that she'd said that to explain to Harry the possibility that he could be related to Salazar Slytherin. And yet the same reasoning applied here, only this time for a different probable ancestor.

Harry had moved off down another isle, his eyes roving over each tomb. He did not pause overlong at any of them, merely glanced at each, noting how old each seemed to be, before moving on. He was sure he was on the right track, because the farther down the room he moved, the newer the coffins…

Hermione's gaze had been drawn to a large tapestry on the left hand wall. It stretched from one end of the oblong room to the other, and looked at first like it pictured a vine growing out of control. As she neared it however, it brought to mind the tapestry of Sirius's family that she had seen in Grimmauld Place two years ago, and as she got ever closer, she realized it served the same purpose.

A family tree.

Ron had not gone very far into the room. Like his two friends, he had obviously realized the possibility that Harry could be related to one of the greatest wizards who ever lived. The thought had inspired a sense of peace and awe in Harry, wonder and amazement in Hermione, and in himself…

His heart clenched as old feelings, emotions he thought he had buried, tried to resurface.

“I think I'll just go wait outside.” His voice sounded too loud for the quiet atmosphere, and he flinched as it echoed off the walls back at him. Hermione turned from her contemplation of a tapestry on the wall, Harry looked up from his study of a casket. Both looked at him in mild surprise.

Ron tried to inject casualness into his voice as he said, “This place gives me the creeps. No offense Harry, but I think I'd rather wait in the fresh air for you.”

Harry nodded, though Ron thought he could detect disappointment in his friend's voice. “All right, though we might be a while,”

Ron looked at Hermione, who added, “Don't worry. We'll tell you what we find.”

Ron nodded, not really wanting to speak, then turned and strode briskly back out of the room, up the corridor, and through the doorway into the bright August sun.

Hermione had turned back to her perusal of the tapestry. Red background, gold thread, black embellishments. At the far left edge, Godric Gryffindor's name was elaborately stitched in gold thread, larger than the names following. She followed the tapestry down the room, walking slowly, trying not to take in too much information at once, eager to see if this would end where she thought it would. She noticed that some branches of the line came to abrupt stops, where Godric's descendants had not had children.

These endings occurred so frequently, that unlike most family trees Hermione had seen, this one did not spread out like ripples in a pond, but instead followed a relatively straight line down the wall. She also saw that many of the names had one, two, or three black asterisks embroidered next to them; these marks grew in frequency the farther she walked down the length of the cloth, until she finally noticed a legend, near the middle of the tapestry, along the bottom edge.

*-Squib

**-Muggle (married into the family)

***-Wizard (married into the family)

She gasped, and then studied the tapestry more intently. It seemed that Harry's family had been made up of more non-magical people than witches or wizards. The most common marriages seemed to be of a squib and a Muggle, though there were a few witches and wizards mixed in, all of whom had married into Godric's line. In fact, now that she was looking properly, she noticed that not a single wizard or witch was a direct descendent of Godric since his grandchildren. All of Godric's direct descendents from his grandchildren onward had been marked as squibs. Any magic that was in the family after them had come from outside.

But wait. Didn't Harry tell us that his dad was a pureblood?

But that means…

Hermione turned to her right. The other end of the tapestry was still some distance away, and as her pace quickened towards it, she grew ever surer of how it would end; that at least two of the last names would have no asterisks at all.

Harry had still not found what he had been searching for. The caskets he was standing beside could have been placed here no more than a hundred years ago. He was sure he was getting closer.

He heard a thump from across the room. Looking around quickly, he realized Hermione seemed to have disappeared.

Harry hurried toward the source of the thump, and discovered Hermione kneeling on the dusty floor, looking up at a tapestry dominating the wall in front of her. Harry wondered vaguely how he could have missed it, but he had been so intent on finding something else in this room…

“Hermione, what's wrong?”

She slowly raised a finger, pointing to the last names on the tapestry.

“Harry, look.”

Harry looked.

Harry inhaled sharply. He had been suspecting this ever since he had realized the tomb was Gryffindor's. Why else would it have been on his family's property? Perhaps he had been suspecting it even longer though, since the time he had realized the sword he held in his hand had belonged to the famous wizard.

He had suspected this, but the confirmation of it still took him by surprise, for other reasons.

“You know, I never thought of Aunt Petunia as a squib. But it would make sense for her to be classified as one, since she shares the same ancestors as mum and me.”

“What about your cousin, though? He's also classified as a squib, for the same reasons.”

Harry scratched his head reflectively. “I wonder if I should take that as confirmation that evolution can work in reverse?”

Hermione let out a short bark of laughter, quickly stifled. She glanced around the silent room guiltily.

“You know, you're actually almost right,” she whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, for all that Dudley and your aunt share Godric's blood, whatever magic might be there is obviously recessive, and has been for many generations. And if any of the other cases are indication, Dudley's children will never be magical.”

Harry smiled, seeming relieved.

“So, what were you looking for?” Hermione prompted.

“Can't you guess?”

She shook her head.

“Think about it Hermione. My family is buried here. So that means my parents should be in here somewhere too.”

Hermione gasped. “Of course! I wonder where?”

Harry gestured back where he had been standing. “The newer coffins all seem to be in that area, so it makes sense that mum and dad should be there too, but I hadn't found them yet when I came over here.”

“Well, let's go back and look together then.”

Harry took her hand and pulled her up. Hermione immediately set off, but Harry paused a moment, looking back at the tapestry. He wondered if Dumbledore knew how literal his words truly were, when he'd said it would take a true Gryffindor to pull Godric's sword out of the hat.

My ancestor's sword, Harry corrected this thought. He wondered if Godric had ever used it to fight with, as he had, or if it had just been for ceremonial purposes.

Realizing the question was probably unanswerable, Harry sighed, and then turned away from the wall to follow Hermione.

Some time later, Hermione left Harry inside the tomb to give him some privacy. His parent's caskets had been in the very back of the tomb, side by side. There had been a small leather-bound book on a ledge between them, which Hermione opened and read, with Harry's permission.

I can't believe it…it explains everything, but…

She sighed, and then looked about for Ron. Spotting him lying in the grass some distance away, she hurried over. Ron didn't even open his eyes at her approach.

“Well, is it true?” he asked dully.

“Yes, it's true.”

Ron said nothing.

“You know what's really amazing?”

Ron shrugged.

“We found a prophecy at his parents' graves. It turns out that Gryffindor placed a spell on his children, that few of his progeny would have any magic until the time his true heir would come forth to defeat Slytherin's heir. That's why there are so many squibs and Muggles in Harry's family, until he and his mother; they're the only ones who you might call talented with magic. Do you know they're the first magical people in their family for about twenty generations? Anyway, I conjured some flowers for all the graves, including Gryffindor's; it's by far the fanciest of the lot, all covered in gold. Also, Harry found two letters from his parents, so I left him alone to read them in peace…Ron, are you listening?”

Ron sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

“So, he's really Gryffindor's heir, then?”

“Um…yes?”

Ron shook his head.

“Well, that's just—great.”

“Ron, what's wrong?” Hermione asked gently.

Ron sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He stared blankly at nothing as he replied.

“I've always envied him, you know? Ever since he told me who he was, that day on the train. I'd grown up hearing stories about him, and when I met him face to face, the first thing I thought was, `now I can see if it's all true. Now I can see for myself if he really is as great as everyone says he is.' And you know what I realized? It is true. Somehow everything seems to work out for him.”

Hermione scooted closer and put a hand on his shoulder.

“One of the only things I thought I had that put me above him was that I had a family, and he didn't. I know that may sound harsh, but I honestly used that as a way to judge him. But you know what? The first time I met him, one of the first things we talked about was how awful his life had been, growing up with Muggles. I felt better when I realized that although everyone knew his name, he was coming from circumstances much worse than mine. I realized, that compared to a kid who jumped out of his seat to buy candy, because he'd never had any to speak of before…who was put in unsuitable clothes on purpose, and not for lack of money… who would have given anything to be raised in a family like mine…I realized that, compared to a kid who--who had never even had proper Christmas presents, I had it easy…”

“Ron, you do know that Harry would probably give anything to be you?”

Ron exhaled sharply. “Yes, I do, and that's just the problem. I can't help but be jealous of him, even though I know I'm a lot luckier than he is. I'm so selfish that way.”

“No, you're not. It's just like they say. The grass is always greener—“

“—in someone else's yard; I know. It's just that sometimes I wish I could see the good things in my life as clearly as I can see them in his.”

“You know, I once heard that a person's good qualities are like a jewel on their back. They can't see their own jewel, but they can see others' jewels, so they would think themselves inferior, because it's so much easier to see the jewel on another's back than on your own.”

Ron smiled. “I suppose that's true. And there are things I have that he doesn't other than a family. I'm a prefect, and he's not, for one.”

Hermione refrained from commenting. The first thought that had occurred to her when she was told by Harry that the prefect badge he was holding belonged to Ron was “WHAT?”

She'd agreed that Harry had probably caused too much trouble, but Ron had been a co-conspirator on most of those escapades, so if that ruled Harry out, shouldn't it have ruled Ron out as well? And if the performance was based on merits, what had Ron done that Harry hadn't? She had not told Ron that Harry had been told by Dumbledore that the reason Harry hadn't been chosen was that Dumbledore thought he'd already had too much responsibility, because that in turn had raised the question, `if not Harry, then why Ron?'

“And I also had a legitimate girlfriend, for another…” Ron trailed off before bringing up the subject of Ginny's love potion.

Hermione snorted. If that's legitimate, I think maybe I'd prefer the potion generated sort, she thought, remembering Ron's behavior with Lavender.

“And…now I have you,” Ron said softly.

Hermione's heart plummeted into her stomach before leaping into her throat, cutting off her speech. Did he honestly think that…?

“I mean, at least I think I do,” Ron said hopefully. “I do, don't I?”

“Ron,” Hermione's voice came out shaky. She took a breath and tried again. “Ron, listen, we both know that whatever feelings we may have had for each other were because of Ginny's potion.”

Ron's face fell. “So…you don't…?”

Hermione shook her head. “I'm sorry.,” she whispered.

Ron let his breath out slowly. “So am I. My feelings were genuine.”

Hermione looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, that for me…this didn't just start last year.”

Hermione stayed silent. What could she say?

Ron went on. “I've had a bit of a crush on you since the Yule Ball at least.”

Hermione's stomach clenched as she remembered the conversation she had overheard between him and Harry. So Harry was right on that point, too.

“How much?”

“Huh?”

“Would you say your crush was based on, say, willing to risk your life for me, or wanting to snog me like I was Lavender?”

Ron winced at the reference. He looked thoughtful, but didn't answer. Hermione stood to go back into the tomb.

“When you figure it out let me know,” she said, turning away from Ron.

Harry stepped back from the entryway, hurrying away down the passage. He had been surprised by Ron's revelations, and thought that Hermione had a good point with her story. It was easier to see the good qualities in others than in yourself. He'd also thought Hermione's question about Ron's feelings for her to be very pertinent, and if Ron couldn't answer, that was his headache to deal with.

As he walked, he was careful not to crumple the two letters in his hand, the contents of which he thought would take him some time to come to terms with.

Dear Harry,

If you are reading this, we have been betrayed. I suppose that should teach us to listen to Sirius's ideas…

I can't imagine what you've been through before now; I can only hope you've had friends on whom you can rely.

I can't know what advice to give you, because I don't know what you need advice on. I would assume that girls would be one thing, either now or in the future. Then again, you may be married for all I know! If you are, tell her I wish the both of you the best. But I would assume you've discovered at least one of the prophecies concerning you.

Whether or not facing Voldemort is still in your future or old news by now, I will tell you this: The world will definitely be a better place without him and his kind.

I wish I could think of more to say to you. I'm afraid the best I can do is go into the nursery after I finish this letter, play with you, or just hold you for awhile, depending on if you're awake or not. Even then, I still won't be able to say much to you. I'd rather smile at you, and laugh when you try to eat my fingers.

I'll never have the chance to tell you what is in my heart right now; I don't know if we'll ever have the chance to be grown men together, whether I'll be there to help you through your first crush, share my Seeking secrets with you, write you letters when you're at school, and all those other things that fathers do with their sons; things that I still look forward to, even though right now there's every indication that I may not survive to see them through.

I only hope that you will be there for those things, and more, and that you will enjoy them to the fullest.

All my love,

Your Father, James

*

Dear Harry,

Your father is watching you now; I told him he should write his letter first, because my thoughts were too scattered to even hold a pen a few minutes ago, when we decided we should write these letters.

When you were born Harry, the first time I held you I could believe that everything would be all right. My parents had been murdered recently, my sister and I were, and still are, estranged, and I had been living every day in fear of my life, and the lives of my loved ones. But in that moment, nothing existed but you. It seemed impossible to me that something so wonderful could exist in a world so terrible; how could something as precious as a baby belong to the same world as Voldemort and his followers?

I once heard someone say, `a baby is God's opinion that the world should go on.' The moment I first held you, I believed that, if I believed nothing else at that moment.

I make you this promise Harry: he shall not touch you, unless it is over my dead body. I have heard stories of women performing remarkable feats to protect their children. I do not claim to aspire to that, but if that is what it comes down to in the end, I will protect you as long as I am able.

If you are reading this, I know I have succeeded. One way or another.

You may think your mother is more than a little crazy, as you are reading this. Your father even seems a little scared of me, sometimes, when I go into what he calls my `obsessive mother mode.' Know only that I would willingly be named `obsessive mother of all time' if by so doing I could keep you safe.

I hope my sister has treated you well, or at least accepted you. I know it's probably too much to ask that she love you; the only reason I'm putting you under her protection is because it is the safest place for you. I can only hope you've managed to find love elsewhere. I would hate to think you've lived without it for long after our deaths.

My dear, believe me when I say that a life without love is not worth living. Whether it's love from your friends, or elsewhere, I hope you experience it, and return it.

You're father's calling for me now. Apparently you want mum, not dad. I'll go to you, hold you until you fall asleep, and see if I can talk your father into letting you sleep between us tonight. I'll kiss your forehead, wrap your fingers around mine, and fall asleep beside you, with your father watching over us both, like he always does.

Always know that I love you, my precious, precious boy.

Your mother, Lily