- part V: Harry -
Albus Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, and Arthur Weasley, the Minister of Magic, were sitting silently in armchairs in the private lounge of the main Auror office, waiting for their best Auror team to return.
The doorknob turned. The creak as the door slowly opened was almost deafening, coming in sharp contrast to the intense silence preceding it. The greatest Auror team ever entered the room, one in the arms of the other. The Preservation charm on her body created the illusion that she was sleeping, but her glassy eyes made it unmistakably clear that she was no longer alive.
Harry laid her on the couch and turned to leave again, but Mr Weasley stopped him. "Harry, wait. We need to know what happened. Have a seat."
Harry did not sit, nor did he answer Mr Weasley. Dumbledore was the next to speak. "I expected this," he said, looking glumly at the lifeless body on the sofa.
Harry stared at him. "Why?" he asked, in a voice not his own.
"Very late at night, two days ago, all the Death Eaters in Azkaban suddenly died," explained Dumbledore. "We assumed this was because you were successful in your mission. Am I right, Harry?"
"Yes," he said shortly. "You say all the Death Eaters died?"
"Everyone with a Dark Mark on their arm," Dumbledore said slowly. He handed Harry a stack of photographs. Harry looked at the top one- in the picture Dumbledore knelt down next to an unmoving Walden Macnair on the floor of an Azkaban cell and pulled up Macnair's eyelids. The corpse's eyes were blank and transparent. Harry quickly moved on to the next picture, but they were all similar. All the eyes were entirely clear.
So that's why she died. All because of an old tattoo on her arm that meant nothing, absolutely nothing, except that she had been willing to make that sacrifice years ago for the sake of the Light side. Her selflessness had saved Hogwarts, a lot of lives, and, for all intents and purposes, all of wizarding Europe. And that same selflessness had now become her downfall.
That was just like Voldemort- if he had to fall, he'd take as many as he could down with him.
Harry felt like kicking something, so for the sake of the three men who now stood around him, watching him, he walked over to the other side of the room.
Remus got slowly to his feet and followed him. He looked more ill and exhausted than Harry had ever seen him; in his hair there was no trace of the light brown hues of his youth. "Harry," he said in a tired, raspy voice. "I know how you're feeling."
Harry said nothing, so Remus continued, "The truth hurts, no doubt about that, it always has. But in the end, it's all for the best. Look at yourself- you're a changed man. You've finally accepted who you are- "
Suddenly, Harry remembered the parchment that had been kept with the Orb- the other half of the prophecy Remus had given him before they left for Norway. He pulled the crumpled sheet from his pocket, smoothed it out on the edge of a coffee table, and handed it to Remus, who took on an interested expression when he noticed the ripped edge. He read out loud,
"The hope of all those that know them
Tip their rosy feathers with gold
Sent to rid the others of that
With which they cannot live in peace.
As known since my time, since the days of Merlin,
Complete is their final quest
Though they started like sister and brother,
They end their journey as nestmates."
Harry had never been a superstitious person. He and Hermione had both thought that predictions and prophecies and horoscopes and all things fortune-telling were phoney and ridiculous. But nevertheless, the words Remus read sent a chill up Harry's spine. After all, this was not a prophecy by Sibyll Trelawney, but by Merlin himself.
"See?" said Remus quietly. "You understand now, I can tell you do. You've always loved her, and she you. You were meant to be, too. You were blessed to have known her for as long as you did. As I said before, your heart can't lie- "
He was interrupted by Mr Weasley, who placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry," said Mr Weasley, "I'm very sorry for your loss. I know she was like a sister to you."
"More than that…" Harry muttered.
"Pardon?" said Mr Weasley. "Didn't catch that."
"Nothing- never mind."
"Just remember, she's with Ron now."
"I know she is, Mr Weasley," said Harry dejectedly.
"Right then," Mr Weasley said concernedly. "Well, we've got to move on. Listen, Harry- I promised a press conference at noon today. I'd like you to come."
Not having enough energy to protest, Harry nodded wearily.
"Remus, I suggest you go home and get some rest," said Dumbledore.
"I won't say no to that," said Remus with a sigh. He turned back toward Harry. "Well done, Harry. Sirius and James would most definitely have been proud." With that, he Disapparated.
Mr Weasley had left to prepare for the conference. Dumbledore took both halves of the prophecy from Harry and quickly read through them. He had a pensive look on his face, but mercifully didn't ask any questions or try to talk about Hermione. Instead he said, "I daresay one lecture about true love is enough for one day." He winked at Harry, who smiled weakly back. Harry was surprised by this; he'd felt sure he would never smile again.
Dumbledore now crossed the room to where Hermione lay. He lifted one of her eyelids to see that her eyes had turned clear. Harry said suddenly, "She didn't deserve to die that way."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Die what way?" he asked.
"Like a Death Eater."
Dumbledore stared intently at Harry for a minute before saying, "I don't think anybody knew that the Dark Mark held such powerful magic. It's just like Voldemort to use that spell- he figured if he had to die, he'd take as many down with him as he could. The situation was most unfortunate. We owe a lot to her- "
"And I'm going to make sure she gets it," Harry cut in.
"Harry… when she died, she had everything she wanted. She told Remus and me, before you left for Norway, that she would be happy only when she knew for sure that you loved her. Like us, she suspected that you did, but she wanted you to say it for yourself."
"I did," Harry said quickly, his voice cracking.
"There you are, then. She died happy- what more could a person ask for? And never forget what I told you, way back in your first year at Hogwarts. To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure."
Harry felt better than he had at any time in the past two days, but he was still aching with a powerful sort of sadness. He was not to be consoled, now that he knew he had kept her from being happy for years, because of his own narrow-minded stupidity. And now, she was gone forever- it had happened so suddenly. What a fool he'd been…
His thoughts were interrupted when a young wizard popped his head through the door and said, "Ay! Come on! The Minister's waiting for you two!"
Harry followed Dumbledore and the other wizard out of the Auror office and into the street. When he got outside he stopped in his tracks, gawping at the sight that met his eyes.
An elevated stage had been erected in the widest, most spacious part of Diagon Alley- which happened to be the steps of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. An enormous British flag hung over the stage, magically flapping in the windless air. And surrounding the stage on all sides, stretching as far as the eye could see, was a sea of people, all talking excitedly.
Careful to keep his head down and fringe covering his scar, Harry slowly made his way through the throng to join Dumbledore and Mr Weasley up on the platform, and he quickly retreated into the shadows at the back of the stage.
"There you are," said Mr Weasley. "Well, now we can start- and we'd better do so before somebody starts a riot. Sonorous," he said, pointing his wand at his neck.
Mr Weasley cleared his throat to get everybody's attention. This had no effect whatsoever on the babbling crowd, but, undaunted, he started to speak. "Today," he said, "is a wonderful day for all witches and wizards- and Muggles, too, of course," he added warmly.
The crowd became relatively quiet, collectively breathless with anticipation. Mr Weasley continued, "You-Know-Who has been destroyed forever."
Diagon Alley might as well have exploded. The screams and cheers and stamping and clapping shook the marble pillars of Gringotts. An assortment of colourful sparks and fireworks shot into the air in various places above the horde of wildly applauding witches and wizards. The noise was not to be drowned out by even the Minister's amplified voice, so Mr Weasley had to wait several minutes before he could be heard. "You-Know-Who was finally killed by our best Auror team, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, both of whom will be honoured with the Order of Merlin, First Class." He paused a moment before saying, "I now give you Mr. Albus Dumbledore for a more serious announcement."
Dumbledore approached the front and centre of the stage. Like Mr Weasley, he cleared his throat; unlike for Mr Weasley, the crowd fell into a mild hush. "These past few days, though victorious, did not come without loss. The war took its final innocent victim, the best student to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy since the late Lord Voldemort-"
Here he was interrupted mid-sentence by a new wave of boisterous cheers that came in response to Dumbledore's last few words, although the audience collectively winced at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, still feared, even in death. Harry was overcome by a hot anger at the crowd's disrespect for Dumbledore and his tribute to Hermione's memory. This fiery indignation was the first feeling he'd had since Hermione's death that was anything but misery. He glared into the throng of people, although he knew they couldn't see him.
Dumbledore patiently waited for the yells to subside before continuing. "Hogwarts's greatest mind in many years, Miss Hermione Granger, died on this last mission to destroy Lord Voldemort. She lived a heroic life; she did much for this country, and indeed, the entire wizarding world," said Dumbledore solemnly. "I ask that even as you rejoice in this extraordinary event, you do not forget Hermione or any of the others who gave their lives to help eradicate the Dark- celebrate not only the victory of the Light, but the memory of Hermione Granger, a truly great witch and Auror, and an outstanding person in every possible way. We'll truly never see the likes of her again."
Dumbledore paused to let his speech sink in. "Now I will take any questions the audience might have, for either the Minister or myself."
It seemed that everybody had a question, because the sea of heads became a sea of raised, waving hands. The air above the crowd became very bright and colourful as different people tried to get Dumbledore's attention by conjuring impressive displays of stars and sparks. Harry even spotted a few people crowd-surfing, attempting to get near enough to ask a question. Dumbledore pointed at a man who had made his orange top hat, which sported a large star with the flashing words 'The Daily Prophet', grow several metres to tower over everything else in the crowd.
"My question is for the Minister," said the wizard. Mr Weasley stepped forward to hear the question. "Are there going to be any changes within the Ministry, with the passing of You-Know-Who?"
Mr Weasley replied, "Well, our Aurors will be able to take a well-deserved break- as you've probably already heard, every Death Eater has met his or her end, so at the present time there is little for them to do here. This will give them time to take a holiday, and perhaps consider a more pleasant career if they'd like."
The wizard who asked the question, scribbling furiously on his pad of parchment, nodded his thanks to Mr Weasley; his hat fell forward and nearly flattened the people standing in front of him.
"My question is for the Headmaster," shouted a middle-aged witch, who was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet with excitement. "Will there be any changes at Hogwarts?"
"I will ensure that Defence Against the Dark Arts will remain a required part of the Hogwarts curriculum," said Dumbledore slowly. Something about the tone of his voice gave Harry the notion that he knew he would not be returning to Hogwarts the forthcoming school year. "Contrary to what we would all like to believe, there are still Dark wizards about, and there always will be. This class will also include a programme to prevent vulnerable young witches and wizards from ever turning to the Dark side. We hope that this will help keep future order here in Britain, even if we cannot do anything about the rise of Dark sorcerers in other nations."
The witch had stopped bouncing; evidently, Dumbledore's answer was not the one she had expected or wanted to hear.
Dumbledore's voice lifted with a touch of humour, "However, I do believe that updated History of Magic books will be necessary."
An appreciative chuckle ran through the multitude before the next question was asked: "Also for Mr Dumbledore- how exactly was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named defeated?"
"Ah," said Dumbledore with a rather grave smile. "As I honestly don't know that fact for myself, I'm afraid I cannot answer that question. There is, however, somebody here who can. I redirect your question to Mr Harry Potter."
Dumbledore turned and beckoned to Harry, who reluctantly stepped out of the backstage shadows. He had grown to hate public speaking with a flaming passion. Years of being the centre of attention had jaded the initial pleasure of being Public Hero Number One. So it was against his will but out of respect for his superiors that he now approached the front of the stage where Dumbledore and Mr Weasley stood. But nevertheless, he tried his best not to look too unpleasant as he waited for the torrents of fanatical applause, which had started up at the very mention of his name, to ebb away.
Harry took a very deep breath before beginning his story, which he resolved to shorten and simplify as much as possible.
"It was a case we'd been working on for about a month. It started with a- a tip from a captured Death Eater. Turns out Voldemort's life was not held in his body, but in a stone, which we called the Orb. The Dark magic Voldemort used ensured that he would die only when the Orb was destroyed.
"Well, we did some research. Actually, Her-" he stopped himself; saying the name aloud was too painful. "My partner did most of the work. In fact, she could have done the entire thing herself, if it weren't for the fact that only a Parselmouth, such as Voldemort or myself, could get to the Orb. Anyway, we discovered the Orb was hidden in a rather frozen part of northern Europe.
"So there we went, living in the forest and fighting off Death Eaters until we fouind the entrance to the Orb's secret chamber. Inside, we fought a rare, sinister Dark creature and an assortment of other magical difficulties, and found the Orb. She destroyed it. I did not kill Voldemort," Harry said forcefully and deliberately, although he got the impression that the listeners wasn't taking in a word he said now; they were all chatting energetically or jotting down notes. He continued hastily on, "She did. She killed Voldemort, and then we managed to escape with minimal injuries."
There. Harry had surprised himself by recounting the entire story relatively fluently, and, more miraculously, without emotion. He inwardly congratulated himself before taking the next question.
"Then how did your partner die?"
Harry stared, momentarily taken aback by the tactless method in which this question had been posed. But, feeling obligated to reply, he opened his mouth to do so- he hesitated on his answer, not sure whether he could explain without making Hermione sound like a criminal.
He looked at Dumbledore for help. The Headmaster nodded encouragingly, so Harry turned back to face the audience. The truth… Dumbledore had always believed that the truth was more favourable than lies. And everybody had a right to know the truth.
"I'm sure," said Harry, his voice slightly more strained than it had been earlier, "you all remember Christmas of 1998. Perhaps some of you have wondered how we knew Voldemort was coming to Hogwarts. Well, she bravely volunteered to become a Death Eater for the purpose of spying on Voldemort. She was able to find out Voldemort's plans and warn us of them in time to save Hogwarts.
"However," said Harry, trying not to choke on his words, "the Dark magic residing in the Dark Mark on her arm linked her to Voldemort. When she killed Voldemort, the magic was activated. She died- like a common Death Eater…"
There was a convenient minute of stunned silence, allowing Harry to regain his composure before fielding the next question.
"Harry, does it feel good to have finally avenged your parents' deaths?"
"Yes," he said curtly, "but they're not the only deaths-"
"Mr Potter, how does it feel to be the one to finally defeat the Dark Lord?"
"I wouldn't know," said Harry irritably, "seeing as I'm not the one to-"
"Did your past encounters with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named have an effect on how you killed him?"
"I didn't kill Voldemort," Harry growled, the anger rising in him.
"Mr Potter, when you destroyed You-Know-Who-"
"I DIDN'T!" Harry bellowed, letting his temper get the best of him. ""How many times do I have to say it? You're all so wrapped up in my meaningless past, what with me being the bloody 'Boy Who Lived', that you can't accept the reality. All my life I've been hailed like some kind of saviour, which I'm not! The person who really saved you is that other girl, that nonentity always standing next to the famous Harry Potter in photographs. My parents and I bought you thirteen years worth of peace… she's bought you peace for the rest of your lives- forever! We were an Auror pair, and last time I checked, a pair meant two people. I refuse to accept any of your praise."
Harry turned to stalk off the stage, but he was stopped by a small, desperate voice that came from behind him.
"Er- Mr Potter- Harry?" The speaker was a young girl, who couldn't have been more than twelve. "If you don't mind, just- just one more question? It's not for the news or anything."
It must have been the girl's innocent youth that kept Harry from ignoring her, as he would have ignored any Daily Prophet reporter who followed him. Or maybe… maybe it was the girl's wavy brown hair and cinnamon eyes…
"One more question," Harry agreed heavily.
The girl looked relieved- perhaps she had been expecting Harry to pull out his wand and hex her. Harry attempted to make his expression less severe as the girl asked a very unusual question: "Who was Hermione Granger?"
Harry froze at the mention of her name. Stomach twisting unpleasantly, he heard his amplified voice struggling to speak. "Er- Hermione… well, the greatest Hogwarts student and Auror ever…"
And then he remembered when Remus had asked him the same question, albeit in the present tense. Harry had answered him. He'd answered wrongly. Now he sighed.
The truth.
He took off his sunglasses, revealing his watering, bloodshot eyes for all the world to see.
"…and the love of my life," he finished.
His voice was only a strangled whisper, but everyone heard it. A witch in the front row burst into tears.
The little girl said, "Thank you… I know she'd be happy to hear that", and gave him a grateful smile before melting into the people around her and disappearing in the throng.
Harry couldn't stay any longer. With a quick "Quietus" he hopped down from the stage and started to make his way through the crowd. But people started swarming around him as though he were a magnet for reporters (which, he reminded himself, he practically was), and he couldn't see a thing through the crowd of thick purple smoke that had come from the various cameras clicking away at him.
"Let's have a word, Mr Potter."
"How about an interview for Transfiguration Today?"
Harry didn't trust himself to answer civilly, so he said nothing at all. After a few minutes of struggling against the stream of people all clamouring to get a glimpse of him, he decided he was fighting a losing battle. He pulled out his wand (the surrounding spectators recoiled in fear of attack) and Apparated to the door of the Leaky Cauldron, on the other side of the mob of wizards, even though it was only about a hundred metres away.
He threw open the door, sprinted across the deserted pub, and skidded to a halt in front of the bar. "Quick, Tom," Harry said hastily, emptying half his money bag onto the counter. "A private room, and a bottle of the strongest stuff you have."
Tom wasted no time. "Certainly, Mr Potter," he said to Harry. Then he turned to a young clerk and said, "Brian, get Mr Potter the mix, and bring it up to Room Eleven."
Brian disappeared behind the bar, and Tom ushered Harry upstairs to number eleven just as a horde of reporters burst into the tavern, looking wildly around for Harry.
Harry collapsed onto the comfortable four-poster bed, massaging his temples. He'd had a hellish morning- it was only one in the afternoon, and he already couldn't wait until the day was over.
Suddenly, the door opened, and Harry's ears were met by a tidal wave of sound. He sat up abruptly just as Brian the junior bartender dove into the room, slamming the door behind him.
"Gods!" said Brian, "there's got to be a hundred reporters out there in the corridor for you. Here-" he handed Harry a large, unlabeled green glass bottle. "Russian vodka and Ogden's Old Firewhisky mix. Be careful with it," said Brian with a wink before turning to leave.
"Wait," called Harry.
Brian turned back round and said, "Oh- right. You'll be wanting a shot glass for that, eh?"
"No, I don't need one. Just- get all those reporters out of here, all right? Here's your tip," added Harry, tossing him the half-full money bag.
Brian caught the pouch and stared at it, bewildered, before saying, "Thanks very much, Mr Potter. Oh, er- can I, um… have your autograph?"
"No."
Brian hesitated. "…Please?"
"I just gave you a ten and a half Galleon tip. Bugger off."
"Sorry." Without further delay Brian left and started clearing out the mob gathered in the hallway.
Harry implemented the bottle opener attachment on the penknife Sirius had given him for Christmas in his fourth year at Hogwarts and swallowed a mouthful of liquor. Brian and Tom weren't kidding- it was strong. Magically strong, he was willing to bet.
Harry walked over to the window and looked down on Diagon Alley, looking more cheerful than ever in the still, warm air and bright sunshine. What seemed to be the entire population of wizarding Britain was roaming happily, eating, drinking, talking, laughing, singing, smiling… Yes, it was all very well for them. They only had a few decades of fear. They didn't have their whole lives dedicated to getting rid of Voldemort. They let someone else- Harry, Remus, Dumbledore, and Hermione to be specific- do the dirty work for them. And was it ever dirty. Now it was just one big party, happiness at their expense.
Swig. Harry sat back down on the edge of the bed. Funny, but he didn't feel anything new- not happy, not relieved, not calm, not proud- now that Voldemort was gone forever. Not that it really meant anything. With his luck, a new Dark wizard twice as bad as Voldemort would be announcing his arrival any day now. Or maybe the Orb of Slytherin was a fake- a bluff. Who knows? he thought. Who cares?
Swig. His whole life had been one great big hellish fight. And, in the cruellest of ironies, he was never the one that came out on the bottom. That would be his parents. And Cedric Diggory. And Ron. And Sirius. And Hermione. He was the hero. They were dead. What had Voldemort said to him six years ago…? You've shed quite a few lives to get here, haven't you, Potter?
Swig. This one's for Hogwarts. Harry found himself wishing more than anything that he was back in school. Not that life had been easy back then, but his memories of those seven years were a lot more pleasant than anything from his life since then. Sure enough, it wasn't long after he left Hogwarts that his life started its tailspin into the hellhole he liked to call 'now'.
Swig. This one's for Remus. The best teacher Harry ever had, both inside school and out. He was James Potter's best friend, but he might as well have been Harry's own father for all the influence he had on him. The poor man's been trying his hardest his whole life, and doesn't have half the recognition that Harry had had when he was one year old. Just an outcast. Thanks.
Swig. This one's for Dumbledore. In a way, Harry was glad Voldemort was gone, if only for the reason that Albus Dumbledore could finally retire. After spending years training Harry to do what he couldn't in his old age- defeat Voldemort- finally he can take a break from what he's been doing for a century and a half- fighting the Dark Arts. He did a hell of a job, too. He truly was the greatest wizard ever. Harry wished that he had been more like Dumbledore. Maybe if he had followed the Headmaster's example of trust, he wouldn't have screwed up the last six years of his life so badly.
Swig. This one's for my parents. Ah, the legend as old as Harry… and it wasn't much more than a legend these days. The story of the elder Potters was now of little to no significance. In fact, the Potters were barely remembered at all, except that they were the parents of the great Harry. But Harry remembered them, even if he was the only one. Well, Remus probably remembered them too. But Harry couldn't say for sure whether his mother would have bothered saving him if she'd known he'd end up like this. Getting plastered all alone while everyone else in the country- no, on the continent- celebrated. Some hero he was.
Swig. This one's for Sirius. The five short years Harry knew his godfather weren't nearly enough. The same godfather who worked like a dog his whole life- no pun intended- to keep Harry safe and happy- he was dead, too. Sirius Black was a hell of a wizard. But all three Potters weren't enough for that arsehole Wormtail- no, he had to ruin another life. A life that would have been so awesome and perfect, a life of happiness and freedom and friendship with Remus and knowing his godson. But of course, a normal life has always been too much to ask for. Sirius sure got screwed over, multiple times. Bloody Voldemort and his bloody Death Eaters.
Swig. This one's for Ron. Ron was different. Ron never asked to get mixed up in all this, he never asked to lay down his life for the Light. Harry knew perfectly well, and he'd constantly chastised himself for it, that Ron had only fought against Voldemort to help Harry in the battle. That's because Ron was his best friend, a damn near perfect friend, too. Keyword being was, because Ron isn't anything but dead now. God damn.
Swig. This one's for Hermione…
Oh, God.
Smash. Harry swung the bottle against the bedpost, shattering the end of it. What little alcohol was left in the bottle splashed out and soaked the front of his robes.
Fighting Voldemort. That's all he was ever good for. Ever since he was a year old he'd been the bloody poster boy for the Light. His biography was a history of Lord Voldemort's drawn-out downfall. Both were done.
And Hermione… what had she said to him when her eyes were white? I can wait for you. Nothing like stating the bleeding obvious. Hadn't she been waiting for him for years? Of course she had. Harry had just been too thick-headed to realise they loved each other. And now her death was the final and lethal wound. Well, she could wait for him. But she shouldn't have to. And now she wouldn't have to.
With some difficulty Harry steadied the broken bottle in his hand. He pressed the jagged glass to his wrist.
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll thank you for the things you did in my life
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll come back down and sit beside your feet tonight
Wherever I am you'll always be
More than just a memory
If I ever leave this world alive
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll take on all the sadness that I left behind
If I ever leave this world alive
The madness that you feel will soon subside
So in a word don't shed a tear
I'll be here when it all gets weird
If I ever leave this world alive
So when in doubt just call my name
Just before you go insane
If I ever leave this world
Hey, I may never leave this world
But if I ever leave this world alive
She says I'm okay; I'm all right
Though you have gone from my life
You said that it would
Now everything should
Be all right
And Hermione… what had she said to him when her eyes were white? Just live. Her last request. Well, she was always right. And it's what she wanted. She wanted him to live.
He realised with a rather tipsy jolt that he had never before given her what she wanted. Well, that was something he could change. She wanted him to live.
So be it.
Harry let the broken bottle slip from his hand. It fell harmlessly onto the bed.
Yeah, everything should be all right.
Harry began to stagger drunkenly across the room to where his wand lay upon the polished oak wardrobe, but, seeing all the sharp furniture corners around him, decided it would be a lot safer to crawl to his destination.
Yeah, everything should be all right.
Harry made a mental note to himself to thank Hermione for teaching him the Sobering Charm, before realising that he probably couldn't remember that mental note for as long as he'd need to before seeing her again.
Yeah, everything should be all right.
She could wait for him.
He could wait, too.
-FIN-