Unofficial Portkey Archive

Life and Times

Rating: R

Ship: HHr (main emphasis)

The (unlovely) procedure: all rights go to JKR for previous plot and characters, Scholastic, Warner, and whoever else has their hands in HP.

Unable are the loved to die for love is immortality - Emily Dickinson

***

Chapter Fifty-Seven - Death

***

Harry unfastened the first few buttons of his trench coat. Dodging the media crowd he left on the streets behind him, he took note of their cameras flashing through Gringott's tall windows looking out towards Violet Hill's commercial district. He made a laugh, witches and wizards, magical creatures alike, all disturbed by the frantic, fanatical media. They'd grown to dislike the fact that, when Harry arrived anywhere, the whole town would stop. Some, as he heard closely, spat on the photographers, cursing the paparazzi in their native tongues for disrupting their businesses.

In a sadistic appeal, Harry genuinely enjoyed feeling like everyone else when someone would give him an angry eye for disrupting the peace. It didn't make him feel like he was someone everything else made him out to be. So, when he stood there just inside the doorway, shaking off the cold, he smiled as rows of goblins gave him a sneer.

"Good afternoon," he tipped his cap to one goblin in standard Gringott's attire, a black suit just like the rest, with each and every one of them counting stacks of gold. One goblin, the smarmiest looking of them all, gave a chuckle, dismissing Harry even before he could greet the goblin with another, "How do you do?"

He had to wait when he'd gotten to the main desk centred on the lengthy aisle. The two goblins acknowledged him with a glance, but continued whispering in Gobbledygook. Harry lifted his sleeve to check the time, to hear one goblin say, "…Rubbish…" beneath his breath.

He gave Harry a sneer, sized him up, and laughed as he climbed down from the Head Banker's desk steps. The goblin, pale-yellow with a hint of brown, gazed over the desk at the handsome Harry Potter with his beady black eyes. The tuft of one might call hair stuck sideways from atop his mostly-bald head. He grinned-if one would call it that-and intertwined his slender claws together, his nails fairly sharp-looking and able to pierce.

"Mister Potter…," the goblin heaved.

"Good afternoon, sir," Harry nodded to the Head, and the goblin, albeit slowly, nodded as well. "I've come for a withdrawal."

"You've come for a withdrawal, you say?" The goblin made note of Harry's statement with ink and quill. The goblin wheezed, and Harry thought he could hear him laugh through his wheeze.

"Yes, sir," Although Hermione, his love, held his mind's attention, he couldn't help but feel a draft at his backside. The draft brought a chill up his spine, and he suddenly felt as if he were being watched.

"A simple withdrawal," Harry said with a bit of haste, and as he retrieved the note for the amount in his coat pocket, he looked askance at a nearby goblin watching him curiously and rubbing his scraggly-bearded chin.

"I've dinner plans, sir," Harry gave the note to the Head. "If you could possibly be-"

"Your key please, Mister Potter…," The Head grinned a fang-toothed grin and offered out his hand.

Harry placed the key atop the note for the withdrawal amount.

The moment the key dropped into the goblin's hand, the floor of Gringott's shook. Harry immediately looked at his feet, and then back up to the goblin. "Did you just feel that…?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you are talking about, Mister Potter," The Head had leaned far back in his chair. He had a devilish smile upon his face and motioned over for an assistant, calling for him in Gobbledygook.

Gringott's shook again, the walls trembling, the ornate glass above Harry swaying with each shock.

Harry's eyes went wide when he re-appeared within the goblin's dark ones. The goblin didn't struggle to curl his lips.

Not caring about his blasted galleons, Harry legged it.

Every, single goblin had their eyes on him, and when Harry breached the entrance, stumbling outside, he saw the crowds lined up in the streets. None of them, including the photographers who made their life following his every lead, took notice. All eyes, human and creature, set themselves on a streaming live broadcast from WNN. Dead silent, news anchor Kelly Morgan's voice sounded as if she'd been charmed to speak over intercom, louder than normal. The several televisions showed pictures of current events happening now. A ticker above, which typically read stock numbers, now read:

"REPORTS SAY LONDON HAS BEEN ATTACKED BY DEATH EATERS"

The picture on screen shows a rather large hole in Parliament, and beside it, a devastated Big Ben. The top of the clock tower looked to have been cleared away, chopped in half.

"…Looks as if, yes, the British Parliament has been hit as well as London's Big Ben, an attraction for tourists and a symbol for British solidarity. I cannot fathom why-why anyone would do this-and now new reports are coming in off the wand whereas the Tower Bridge has also been targeted…"

"…the Ministry itself has not been attacked, confirms some reports. People are pouring in from everywhere to escape…"

"…Minister Shacklebolt, who was discussing with United States agencies on how to disrupt these groups before they attacked, has been notified by Defense Secretary Eaton and his cabinet. Defense Secretary Eaton has also called for all able-bodied Aurors and Ministry police anywhere in the country to the site…

"…the United States Ministry, as well as other European Ministries, has condemned the attacks, calling them, `Cowards' for going after Muggle civilians…"

"…Defense Secretary Eaton has also called for Code Black for every Wizarding society within Britain…"

Morgan's words fell forth in a heartbeat.

Sirens went off and, suddenly, the mass huddled around the screens dispersed into madness.

Harry was caught up by the sea of fleeing bodies.

People tried to apparate, but they couldn't-Harry tried to apparate, only receiving the pop, but shorting out with a fizzled noise. The cement shuddered, like an earthquake, the windows Harry passed shaking so violently that some merely broke and shattered onto people as they ran. Harry could hear the shouts of mercy, the cries of confusion, but couldn't make sense from one or the other. People held their hands over their ears, and Harry had to, as well, the sirens drilling into his skull.

Something fell from the sky, with more rocking, an explosion…and a piece of a building tumbled down, squashing innocence as it rolled carelessly down the avenue.

Screams of terror, anguish-people crying all around him-and all he could think about was Hermione…in London.

The transportation to the Ministry would be bottle-necked.

He had to get to the outskirts of Violet Hill, outside Code Black.

Some people stumbled, falling helplessly to the asphalt.

Harry had to shut his eyes as one individual was tossed like a rag doll and left to die, stampeded over.

If he were to stop, he'd be the one dead, the bodies pushing him onward.

Another explosion had Harry look up.

He saw the Dark Mark, he saw the trails of black.

He saw one person taken by the black smoke, and then another.

He wanted to see the white, the Aurors-where were they?!

Bright flashes of spells sprung in a rainbow of colour as citizen fought off their murderer as best they could…though, the evil had their upper hand: one deathly strike could take out more than one individual in the tightly compacted environs.

Blood spilt on Harry, managing to run down an alley with others, to get off the main strip and back around to a side street.

It didn't matter; the number of those wishing to kill appearing to grow.

A white-hot flash of pain hit his forehead.

Harry, dazed, resisted the pain, a hand to his scar…

…When he felt himself stop.

His legs flailed as he was plucked from the crowd.

He heard a voice, a familiar one at his ear.

He fought within the ebon cloud, knowing with each passing second he went further and further up.

"She will die…" The Death Eater whispered. "Like a delicacy, though; we will bide our time…"

"You've lost already!" yelled Harry, twisting and turning, throwing punches, struggling to find his wand in the smoke.

His coat pocket had been emptied of his wand.

"Kingsley is such a pitiful man…the Order is pathetic…"

"She's protected-she will always be protected!!"

"…Like…"

He heard the deep groan of glee from the Death Eater.

"…You?"

Harry's vision succumbed to a vile green.

He was released from the clutches of the Death Eater, his body feeling free as he fell so many miles above earth.

He felt nothing, no nerves, no breaths; but, he did feel the last thump of his beating heart…

~~~

"…Tell me, again, the plan Kingsley…"

"…There's too many of them, Harry, and they've decided that they can't come after you; so, they're going after-"

"Make it happen, Kingsley!" Harry slammed his fist down on Kingsley's desk.

They were in his office down deep within the Ministry hold, the same office Harry had been in before…and now, several times…

"I promised Albus-"

"Albus isn't here!" Harry rose from his chair, and as he did, pointed nerve-stricken finger at the Minister. "No more promise!"

"Promise me, Kingsley!" Harry patted his chest, his heart. "Promise me!"

"You'll die-"

"She will live if it's on my dying breath!"

Kingsley put his elbows on his desk and slowly rubbed his eyes. Muffled, he resounded, "We're thinned, but I will keep you both-"

"Her, Kingsley! We've been over this!" demanded a reddened-faced Harry. "You'll keep HER safe!!"

Kingsley's hands dropped from his eyes to his mouth.

He stared, motionless, tired, at Harry.

He paused, the silence deafening, and answered in a withheld breath, "…She will be safe, Harry. You have my full cooperation, and trust."

Harry fell back in his seat…pleased, but ultimately defeated.

…He had chosen his path.

…

"I can't do it anymore."

"…What can't you do anymore, Harry?"

Harry looked into the slowly enraging fiery red-head. It didn't take a brain surgeon to realize just what route he fled down.

Gin traipsed with caution for the scenario triggered… "Is this about-?"

Harry's eyes, which had gone to the floor, shot up to hers again.

"You fucking wanker," Gin swiftly lifted from the cushioned seat of Cho's sofa. They were alone when Harry came looking for her. Alone, however, could get very bad for Harry if he so enticed that Weasley woman's touch. She'd become Ginevra, the daughter of Molly, and wholly alike in the situational personality. "Did you actually think you could-?!"

Ginevra's voice overcame Harry's. If not for Harry's mouth moving, she'd have easily not heard him at all. "Repeat what you said this instant!" she ordered. "Loud and clear for me."

She tapped her right ear, flipping that Weasley-red around.

"I said," Harry spoke firm, his sight square with hers as he glanced upward now. "I am the target. They want me. In proximity, she'd be a bystander to-"

Harry, instantly clocked, fell to his right and shortly stopped by his hand before he fully landed on the sofa's armrest. He held the side of his face, his head jerked the way he went down. He shot back, seeing Ginevra shake her stinging hand. She certainly had the right-hook down. Harry went about rotating his now jarred jaw. He'd hoped there wouldn't be a bruise, or Hermione would surely ask questions.

"Want to say what you wanted to say again?" Gin asked sarcastically, flushed marks on each of her knuckles from the collision she caused. "Say it again, Harry. I didn't get it all out last time I got my hands on you for fucking screwing her over. The Hell do you think you're doing, hm? The plans you guys have! Your future! You're about to get married!"

She poked at her head. "You've gone mental? I swear, I-"

"Damn it, Gin-listen to me for a fucking second and drop that fist, eh?" Harry's calm had gone. He remained firm, but increased his tone. "They're after me. The god damn Death Eater's are after me-the whole god damn fleet of them! How many will try and get me with the Killing Curse? How many of that will miss and hit Hermione?! If I'm gone-"

"If you're gone it'll fucking kill her, Harry!" Gin threw her hands up in the air. "What happened when you came from the Ministry? How was she, Harry? Multiply that emotion you saw by infinity. She'd attempt something, at worst-I don't even want to think about it. She loves you-as painful that is for me to admit-especially to some pathetic wanker-"

"Gin," Harry interrupted Gin's rant. "If anything happens to me, I want you to take care of her."

Gin abruptly stopped her tirade.

She stared intently, her hands dropping down to her hips.

Harry gazed into the unblinking saucers, Gin's golden-brown eyes flickering in the firelight. "Promise me. Promise me that if I die-"

"You're not going to die."

"Promise me, Gin."

"You're not going to die! Period!" she shouted at him.

Harry stared back just as fixed, silent.

He finally broke the quietness after a few seconds between the motionless bodies. "Gin…," he whispered faintly.

"You're not going to die," Gin said with a tinge of hopelessness. "She'd go-"

"With you," Harry ended. "I want you to look out for her when I'm gone."

Gin stood still, but with the quickness of a feline rose a claw and swiped across Harry's cheek. The slap rang and echoed in the household, Harry's head being jerked once more to the right. He jolted back to his original position, eyeing her down.

"Hurt her, you bastard…and you'll have to deal with me…" She pointed to herself.

"I know you love her too much to let her go."

Gin pivoted on her heel and left Harry, waving from behind, "You know where the exit is. Don't let the door hit your arse on the way out."

…

"Ron."

Harry sat on the last step of Number Twelve. His trainers lay flat on the cobblestone, and beyond that, the magic that made Grimmauld Place impenetrable. He had a cup of hot tea in his hands when he called for his best mate, knowing he'd appear before his eyes.

And Ron did, his Auror cloak billowing in a fresh, cool, wintery breeze.

"Where's Hermione?" Ron asked, kneeling down aside Harry.

He kept a distance in which Harry grinned, looking down inside the cup to see the black-brownish liquid immerse his face with heat. "She's fast asleep."

Ron was gazing up at the stars when Harry met back with him.

"It is rather late."

"Past midnight, and she's got-"

"Lessons tomorrow morning," Ron nodded. "I know her schedule by heart."

Harry smiled and swirled the tea, swishing the cup in small circles. "You care a lot about her."

"And, so do you," Ron ended. "Or, you better."

Ron never took his eyes off the stars.

Harry glanced upwards, too. "She is my life."

Quietness ensued, and Harry broke it, saying in a sip, "…She told me what you said."

"What did I say?"

"That you loved her."

"She did, did she?" Ron coughed into the backside of his leather glove and retracted his sight back to the millions of twinkling stars. "I've always loved her. I was just too much of a bastard to realise what I had, and then it was too late. She'd found a better mate, someone who treated her the way she should have been treated."

Harry smiled.

"You know Ginny fancies her?" Ron finally looked over at Harry.

"Oh…," Harry stayed with the stars. He took another sip. "…I've known that for some time. She'll take good care of Hermione."

"Just like that, huh? You're finished? Done?"

"Any other word from Kingsley then?"

Ron sighed, sharing Harry's gaze with the midnight sky. "…No."

"…Then between Gin-and you-"

"I'll protect her if they come."

Harry's eyes lowered and met Ron.

Ron's came unglued from the sky.

"I know you will, mate. You've yet to let me down."

"I won't let her down," He gave Harry's shoulder a nudge with his fist. "…And, I'd fight for you if I weren't-"

"I know, mate. I know…," Harry went back to the stars. "Just keep an eye on her…when I'm not around…"

"She'll never gain a scratch."

The silence caught on, again, until…

"Can you feel her-Hermione?"

"…I feel her every day." Ron breathed.

"Is she…," Harry stopped, suppressing an urge to…to feel the raw, wrought emotions he kept carefully closed. "…Is she happy?"

Ron gave a look to Harry, his cerulean irises flicking here, and there, at Harry's stifled features, his retired expression. He gave an exasperated sigh, a laugh with no humour, more of bursted, pent-up air than a chuckle, and patted Harry's tensed shoulder.

"…She's never been happier, Harry…"

~~~

His mind went blank, plummeting, his appendages, legs, arms, grasping at air.

In a blink, his final visage, he saw him…

The blonde-haired Slytherin grinned, waving goodbye to Harry James Potter.

A white light took Harry…

…And the image of dark skies, Dark Marks, and Xavier were no more.

***

The Pentagon, Arlington, Virginia

US Ministry, Central Intelligence Agency-branch, in conjunction with the Federal Bureau of Investigation

The word of the attack on London has just been given to Kingsley Shacklebolt whilst discussing Magical-Muggle tactics with US Defense Secretary Cohen in circumventing targeted attacks within the States. Along with the meeting stood an Elven ambassador and his aides, stunned alongside the magical might of the West.

Kingsley Shacklebolt kept to a monitor in the lower recesses of the Pentagon, remaining…calm…trying to stay in control as his own Defense Secretary, Eaton, communicated in detail exactly what had happened.

"-Sir, we believe someone tipped them off."

"Who do you believe tipped them off, Eaton? The individuals we have discussed with great emphasis, or-"

"We're not entirely sure, sir. The Auror teams have been asked to capture, not kill, for intelligence reasons."

"Give them all the tools necessary to stop them at any cost, Eaton!"

"They've been ordered to kill if necessary, of course, sir. Have they prepared the Floo? We need you here."

"I'll be there in minutes-give me the current run down of casualties. How is London? How are the Muggles?"

"We haven't gotten an exact number, but I fear hundreds, maybe thousands of Muggles."

Kingsley slams his hand down upon a desk, gazing up towards the picture of Eaton, and behind him the lower-level Ministry, flickering in-and-out. "Damn it to Hell!"

"Our teams have shut down London, and they're currently working to shut down all major cities within our walls. Prime Minister Blair and the Queen have been moved to their designated safety bunkers. Code Black has been initiated to keep the Death Eaters from retreating."

"The Obliviators are going to be having a field day…"

"The Obliviators are already on the scene."

"Damn it! There shouldn't have been any deaths on my watch, Eaton! None!"

"What could we do, sir? The information we gather didn't show us their ranks. We weren't expecting this many-they've caught us with our pants down."

"Everything was going to plan…why…," Kingsley blurred out of reality listlessly. A fire sparked within him. "Send out every person in our Reconstruction teams now!"

"They're prepped and ready to go when the cities are properly secure, sir."

"I want them out there now, Eaton! These aren't a few houses we're dealing with here!"

Eaton is shown turning away, but just for a second, to shout orders at someone behind him.

"How is Beta-is she safe? Is she safe?!"

"Beta has been moved by Gamma-they're at the Ministry and are under our watch."

"How many others are there?"

"Tons, sir. Too many to count. They've blocked the Floo portals and have overrun the Atrium. The police are trying to accommodate everyone by re-locating them to different levels. Their training has given them enough fortitude to take on the hundreds Flooing in."

"Is Alpha with them?"

Eaton went quiet, his eyes away from his side of the monitor.

"Is Alpha there?!"

More silence.

"For Christ's sake, Eaton! Is Alpha among the survivors?!"

Eaton looks back into the monitor with evident bags beneath his eyes.

"…Alpha has been…eliminated."

Kingsley clutched his chest.

"…Albus…I couldn't keep him safe…I…"

The promise undone, his soul crushed… Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt doubled over in defeat. The Elven ambassador, who had stood by and heard it all, caught him with great finesse before Shacklebolt could crumble to the cold floor. Staring with determination into the flashing picture of the old, worn English Secretary, the fearless human-like creature stated with courage:

"We vow with undying rest to help you find resolution for this day."

***

When he landed he was awake.

He found no pain, no broken bones, no blood.

"Harry, my gracious, wonderful boy…"

He knew who cried out for him.

Enveloped in white, Harry heard a whistle of a train entering King's Cross station.

He turned to see…

Professor Albus Dumbledore, the same as before.

He had his hand out for Harry.

The train behind Dumbledore slowed to a stop, its doors opening.

Harry took Professor Dumbledore's hand, a warm, familiar grip.

Harry looked into Albus's kind eyes as he heard him say:

"It is all right, my son," Albus nodded, knowing Harry had left it all…behind. "…It is time, now, for you to be at peace here at home. People are waiting for you. Your family is waiting for you…"

The thought hit him.

To see his father…

…His mother…

…Again.

Harry stepped onto the train.

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