Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Epilogue
10 Years Later
A young man sat in a blue denim chair, facing a handsome wooden desk. He was absentmindedly fingering a worn piece of parchment in his hand, his eyes gazing at a single shard of glass that sat precariously atop a wooden frame. Many other picture frames lined the walls and shelves of his study, filled with familiar red-haired faces, yet this photograph was the lone one showing a man with greasy black hair and a hook nose. Below the picture was a full length article, dated some ten years previous.
Dumbledore's Final Request
by Rita Skeeter. Just days after the final defeat of You-Know-Who, hundreds of witches and wizards flocked to a memorial of sorts held at Hogwarts for the lost souls that You-Know-Who and his followers murdered in his battle against Harry Potter, or the "Chosen One" as he is often referred to. Even the Werewolf Remus Lupin, often shunned in his lifetime for being a dangerous half-breed, was given highest respects. However touching and sad this memorial was, a most strange and peculiar event that occurred a day earlier was cause for much speculation and accusations.
In the small mainly wizard occupied village of Godric's Hallow, the burial of the man Harry Potter himself accused of murdering Albus Dumbledore was attended by almost fifty people, the majority of those in attendance members of Dumbledore's own secret association known as the Order of the Phoenix. Severus Snape also held a brief stint as headmaster at Hogwart's. This sudden change of events leave many people, myself among them, wondering what devious happenings are going on beneath our very nose, and what the ministry may be covering up(for more on the secret life of new Minister of Magic Authur Weasley, turn to page 10).
Reliable first hand sources called the funeral grief-stricken, as Harry Potter himself turned up to bid Severus Snape goodbye, apparently burying him next to the grave of Harry's parents. As if this entire funeral was not regarded suspiciously enough, the procession was followed by a speech by new headmistress Minerva McGonagal, who announced that for the first time in the long and often wary history of Hogwart's, the sorting would take place not in the first year, but in the second.
"In respect to Albus Dumbledore and to the man who we buried today, I'm offering young witches and wizards to not make their decisions too hastily, but rather be given the chance to choose the right path."
Hogwarts staff declined further comment. One thing is certain, though-there is much more to the mysterious Severus Snape than meets the eye.
Bookshelves lined the shelves across from the article, a shallow stone basin perched on the center most shelf. Hundreds of labeled crystal viles lined the shelf above it, encasing the memories of many nameless, faceless strangers. The only two of significant meaning to the man sat next to the shard of glass, one labeled Severus Snape and the other Albus Dumbledore. The shelves above and below were filled with books of every size and color. The largest and newest of all the books read The Life and Death of Albus Dumbledore and the Story Behind the Man Who Killed Him by Hermione Granger. Smaller writing below Hermione's name said "Co written by Harry Potter". Several other items of seemingly worthless value sat next to the shard of broken glass, including a small cracked stone, a chain of bright gum wrappers, and a worn, blank, folded sheet of old parchment.
A loud thump from the floors below, followed by an instant wailing of a child, startled the man out of his revered thoughts. With a quick glance at his peculiar wristwatch, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and jumped from his chair, knocking over a stack of papers, the topmost one addressed/i Harry Potter, Head Auror.i He flung his wand at the pile as he strode out of the room, sending the papers stacking neatly back upon his desk.
Harry Potter shoved the worn parchment into the pocket of his robes as he jogged down the steps, nearly colliding with a small, red-haired boy.
"Daddy, Jimmy took my wa-wand-" was all the boy could stammer before sucumming to sobs. Harry sighed and took the boy in his arms.
"It's all right, Sev," Harry said patiently. "I'm sure there are plenty more wands in that box from Uncle George."
At the bottom of the stairs, a frazzled looking red-haired young woman was trying in exasperation to catch another red-haired boy, who was running recklessly throughout the room, holding a short brown wand in his hand.
Harry jumped in front of the boy and easily caught him around the middle. "James," Harry said wearily, "Please give the wand back to your brother, and quit causing your mother so much trouble."
James looked up at his father solemnly, then turned and handed the wand up to Severus, who was still clinging to Harry's neck. The wand abruptly turned into a rubber chicken, sending both boys into fits of giggles. Ginny stared in utter bemusement at the boys sudden change of behavior, then turned to Harry.
"I swear, they remind me so much of you..." Ginny said, a slight smile across her face. From in the kitchen behind them, another loud bang erupted. A hazy looking woman floated in the room, smiling dreamily at Harry and Ginny, a large steaming pot in her hands.
"Oh, hello, Harry," Luna Lovegood said serenely. Without another word, Luna drifted into the adjoining dining room, which was followed by another bang as the pot hit the table. Harry and Ginny turned and looked at each other, smiling knowingly. They were too used to Luna's strange behavior to be bothered by it any longer.
"Sorry I was upstairs so long," Harry said quickly, pressing his lips to Ginny's forehead.
"You never were much help in the kitchen, anyway," Ginny said with a rueful smile. "But if you would just grab that box of butterbeers..."
Hermione poked her head out at them, smiling briefly at Harry. "Hey, Harry, did you see the Prophet this morning?"
"No, I hardly ever bother anymore. Not more Rita, I hope?" Harry asked, thinking of Rita Skeeters fury when he and Hermione had released their own version of Dumbledore's biography.
"No, no, not today," Hermione grinned, "Our book has just become the fastest selling one ever at Flourish and Botts. People simply hounding outside to get it, said Diagon Alley's mad...whole article on it and everything..." Hermione suddenly seemed to realize she was burning whatever she had been cooking; Harry sincerely hoped it was not dessert.
Ginny's frazzled expression returned to her face once more, and she bustled back towards the kitchen without another word. Harry watched her leave, then turned towards a storage room in the back and muttered Accio Butterbeer. A box instantly flew from the room and into his arms, the sound of glass rattling inside.
Harry walked into the kitchen, the sounds of pots and pans banging within. He peeked inside warily, afraid of getting in the way of a half-dozen women determined to get Christmas dinner ready. Mrs. Weasley was pouring steaming contents out of her wand and into a waiting dish, her daughter commanding the peeling of potatoes and chopping of carrots beside her. Fleur was glazing cherries beside her, preparing them for the pie plate tottering haphazardly over the edge. The bushy hair of Hermione Granger was bobbing up and down as she peered through a cooking manual, attempting unsuccessfully to cook a turkey, which was charred black. Beside Hermione was the rippling golden hair of Stella Weasley, who was putting the finishing on a sweet potato casserole. A large bowl of salad floated past him in midair, suspended by two tiny, wrinkled hands. The house elf that the hands belonged to wore a sloppy brown jacket and a lopsided red hat, a golden locket swinging on his neck. Harry jumped as Luna brushed against him, squeezing into the packed kitchen.
"I'll take that for you, Harry," she said dreamily, flicking her wand at the box of butterbeer. No one else seeming to have noticed his brief appearance, Harry quickly scrambled into the dining room.
The room, already one of the largest of Harry's small manor, had been magically magnified for Christmas dinner, a long table filling the room, some twenty chairs lined on either side. Many steaming pots and glistening pitchers filled the center of the table, surrounded by a hoard of men, who were attempting to sneak small tastes out of the many dishes.
"Well if it isn't the man of the hour!" Ron Weasley shouted, a grin spreading across his face. He was jiggling a red-haired girl of six on his lap, who was giggling hysterically. The rest of the men quickly turned in his direction, the majority of them sporting a similar shade of vibrant red hair.
Neville Longbottom, who was trying to feed a thick purple sauce to the blonde toddler in his arms, gave Harry a quick wave, sending purple sauce across the table.
"Harry!" Mr. Weasley beamed, "We were just talking about your magnificent capture of Durpent last week."
Durpent was a known muggle killer, thought to be the last of what remained of Voldemort's Death Eaters. Normally, Harry would have quickly shot down any compliments and direct the attention elsewhere, but at mention of this feat, Harry stopped to let it linger for a moment. Durpent's disturbing presence had plagued Harry for over a decade, taunting him with merciless muggle murders and near escapes. Durpent's capture was the final tie that had remained of Lord Voldemort's reign.
"Yes, well, Ron helped," Harry conceded lamely, attempting to sound modest.
"Take a little much deserved credit, mate," Ron said with a snort. Harry walked over and seated himself in the empty seat beside Ron, at a loss for a retort. Ron had helped, in a way. He had been the one to pound on Harry's door in the middle of the night and tell him that another muggle had been killed nearby.
"How are things going in the Ministry, Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked instead. "I haven't been in a couple of days, thought I'd finish up some stuff here."
"Excellent, since Durpent's capture," Mr. Weasley said. "Apparently, my approval rating has skyrocketed."
"Didn't you hear?" George piped up from beside him, with the look of an excited teenager about to spill some very juicy gossip. "Draco Malfoy donated a right large sum to dad's office. Funny, always thought he was a right git..."
Harry was not altogether surprised. Though the Malfoy's had never been pleasant, he knew the continuous pain and torture Voldemort had placed upon their family had changed their idea of who was the "right sort". His mind wandered for a moment to the Malfoy's trial, where Authur Weasley, the longest holding Minister of Magic, had deemed them innocent of all crimes they had committed while Voldemort had been in power. Harry had asked Mr. Weasley to pardon them, his own way of thanking Narcissa Malfoy for saving his life.
"...now won't have to rely entirely on Weasley Wizards Wheezes anymore eh, dad?" George was saying. Beside him, the previously light face of Percy Weasley turned somber. Percy had never quite forgiven himself for Fred's death; he had said after he wished it was him who had died. George patted Percy on the back, his way of saying that all was forgiven. Despite Mr. Weasley's request, Percy had turned down a high position at the Ministry, choosing instead to return to Hogwart's and teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had become the first teacher in over thirty years to hold the position for longer than a year, finally breaking the jinx Tom Riddle had placed upon it so many years ago.
"Well, turning out all right or not, I still hope James and Laurie get the best of his little squirt," Ron said. "Oi, Laurs!" He shouted to a red haired boy next to James, "You hear that? You and James better cause that Malfoy boy loads of trouble..."
"Ron!" Hermione snapped, walking into the dining room, several dishes suspended in front of her. "Don't turn them against each other before they even meet...I swear..." She set the dishes on the table and whirled out of the room.
Ron blushed slightly before turning back to George, and the two continued a lengthy conversation about business, as the two had been running Weasley Wizard Wheezes together for eight years. It had shut briefly after Fred's death, for George had ceased his ability to make kids laugh as he had before. But George and Ron had finally found they had more in common than they realized, and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes picked up where it had left off.
Bill and Charlie were having an animated conversation across the table, a small baby cradled in Charlie's arms. Laughter echoed from the kitchen as six women strode into the dining room, dishes loaded with food suspended in front of them. Every seat in the table was soon filled. Luna sat next to an exasperated Neville, taking the baby from his arms. Ginny sat across from Harry, Severus situated in her lap. Teddy Lupin sat beside her, laughing playfully at something James had done. Ron and Hermione sat on either side of their daughter, Hermione keeping a watchfull eye on Laurie. Stella sat next to George, holding the baby that had been in Charlie's arms minutes before. Bill and Fleur sat between two boys, one with golden blonde hair like his mother's, the other with red hair like his father's. Minerva McGonagall had limped in and sat next to Neville, having never quite recovered from the Death Eater attack in Harry's fifth year. Hagrid sat amongst another hoard of children at the far end of the table, sitting atop an old piano bench. Finally, everyone quieted and turned to Harry.
Uncertain as to what they expected, Harry quickly cleared his throat. "Well, I would like to thank all of you for coming. It's taken such a long time to get us all together; we all seem to be such busy people. I am overjoyed that we can now join together, almost carefree, for the first time in memory." Harry stopped, a smile crossing his face. "Merry Christmas, everyone," Harry finished softly.
Amidst the clatter of plates and newly regenerated laughter, Harry reached into his pocket and withdrew the worn scarp of parchment.
Harry-
I heard many things about you since we last spoke. Of course, father won't have me hear a word of them, but mother reacted most oddly to it; she looked like she was about to cry. She said she was proud of you.
I'm sorry it took me so long to write this, you are a hard man to find. I'm sure you aren't to keen to hear all about me; I'm aware now that I was not exactly nice to you in your years at Privet Drive. However, I thought you should know that I got married five years ago, and now have a son, named(please don't laugh, remember you did save my life once) Harry. The other day he did something rather strange-we found him sitting on the ceiling. My wife, Helena, screamed, but I found myself laughing at the irony of it all. I actually rather find myself looking forward to six years from now, when I expect to find an acceptance letter to Hogwarts. I had always hoped I would get one myself, though of course I would never admit it.
Mum said she is sorry for many things, Harry, and asked me to tell you that. She was rather distraught when we did not hear from you, said she owed you an explanation. Of course dad wouldn't have a word, you know how he is. She said Lily loved you dearly, and that she's asked for forgiveness from Lily every day since you left. That's the first I ever heard her talk of your mum. She also hopes someday you will forgive her, too.
What I really wanted you to know is that it is thanks to you that I managed to find myself a lovely wife and settle down. The last time I saw you, you asked me if those dementors blew a different personality into me. I suppose you were right. They made me see my future - that was my greatest fear. I moved out not long after we were no longer in danger; mum and dad were a bloody wreck. But it was the best thing I had ever done. I know nothing I say can erase the scars of your past, but hey, I'm giving it my best.
Well, I hear the wife screaming...must be little Harry...mum's rather taken a fancy to him, said it will be exciting to have a kid in Hogwart's. I think she hopes it will make up for the last two. But really, must run.
Until we meet again,
Dudley.