Redemption
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the contest this was written for.
This was a contest entry for a site, but I'm still torn on whether or not I'll place it with the Chocolate Frogs collections. It all depends on how well it does in the contest.
The air was cold, but he didn't bother to grab a jacket on his way out the back door. He wanted to feel everything as it was, in it's purest form.
Being away so long had made him forget how right it felt at The Burrow. It was amazing how the comfort of a soft, clean bed, hot food and a loving family could transform a person.
No wonder Ron had missed it during their travels.
Nevertheless, he was not entirely certain if that was where this sense of comfort had arose from. Could it have been the nearly freezing temperature? The vastness of the open field before him? Or was it the fact that the war was all over...finally over?
He did not know, so he began to walk in hopes of finding out.
The more he walked, the stronger the emotion grew. He swallowed hard and tried to identify this new feeling that he was now positive was not comfort. He had never felt this before, and it scared him. His heart began to pound hard and he felt his blood rush into his ears.
What was going on?
He began to run, quickly, blindly, until his body could no longer take the stress. He collapsed in a heap in a batch of tall grass that tinkled his face. He laughed softly, and then louder, until he was near hysterics face down in the grass.
He thought how strange it would be if someone were to come across him in this silly, little predicament. He really should've brought his invisibility cloak with him, though. Such an amateur move it was to forget it.
The emotion grew as he laughed, and he wondered if he had finally cracked. Could it be that after seven years of having the wizarding world's fate on his shoulders, he had finally just snapped? Fell off his rocker? Gone mental?
Well, he figured carelessly, it was bound to happen sooner or later.
He concluded that he was simply exhausted. His laughter died down slowly as he flopped onto his back and stared to the open abyss of the dark, night sky.
What did he feel?
Happiness, sadness, loneliness, comfort, fear…and not to mention that strange tug in his chest. Was it possible to feel all these different emotions and not explode?
His overtired mind began to drift. He wondered idly if it were possible if every star could be a deceased person, staring, watching, waiting for the living to pass and catch up with them. He found this thought comforting and began to count off how many stars he would know.
His parents, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Snape, Cedric, Hedwig, Dobby...not to mention the countless Death Eaters, but he was pretty sure they were somewhere else.
There was also Dumbledore, who had passed nearly three years ago.
How strange that a man who was his mentor, his light through the darkness, was the only one who never really felt dead to him. If he were to simply walk up to him that very moment, he would not be the least surprised...
"You would probably be more curious then anything else, I would think." Dumbledore would say.
He could feel his presence with him at that very moment. Effortlessly he could picture him towering over him, aiding him as he done so in the distant past.
"Yes sir," he agreed to the figment of his imagination. "It's not every day that you see the dead roaming about at night.."
"I would not go telling the ghosts at Hogwarts that though," Dumbledore smiled. His kind, blue eyes sparkling behind his famous half-moon spectacles. "They would be very insulted."
He nodded, not finding it at all strange that he was talking to product of his own mind. An imaginary friend in the form of Albus Dumbledore.
"This feeling," he pondered out loud. "Is it madness, sir?"
"Unfortunately." The older man shook his head, "It is not. You are as sane as most men, maybe even more so."
"Then what is it?"
"Guilt." The pretend Dumbledore answered simply.
He remained stationed on the grass, and felt the dew seeped through his clothing making it stick to his skin.
"I'm sorry sir," he shook his head. "I've felt guilt plenty of times, and this is not it. This is a brand new emotion, one I can barely even begin to explain."
"The guilt you are feeling is much deeper than anything you have ever felt before, and hopefully will never feel again, in your entire life. It is the guilt of death, or more common phrased as the survivor's guilt." the imaginary man explained. "You feel as if this war was, for some part, entirely your fault. Imagine, if both you and Lord Voldemort were to die that grim Halloween night, all those innocent people could have lived. Instead you selfishly stayed alive."
He knew Dumbledore was only speaking out of his own tired mind and did not blame him for the deaths of all those people, since in the wider scheme of things he had saved so many. However, the fact that his mind was thinking such terrible thoughts without him knowing was extremely unnerving.
He swallowed hard, "Sir...I'm sorry. I wish I could save them. I wish little Teddy could have a mother and a father. I wish Fred wasn't killed. I wish Sirius was still here, along with my mum and dad. I'm sorry for the deaths, and the wars, and the broken families. I'm so sorry."
"Don't be Harry," Dumbledore said with smile. "Because if you are sorry, it means you did not want to save the world, and if you did not want to save the world it means Lord Voldemort would still be alive. And you and I both know if that were the case, we would have a much bigger problem on our hands than who is alive and who has passed."
As he considered his old Headmaster's advice, Dumbledore spoke on.
"Always remember Harry, never repent for the things we have done, but the things we have not." he smiled warmly. "And considering you have done so much for the world, you should have very little to repent for."
With that, Dumbledore vanished back into the depths of his own mind and Harry once again found himself alone in the field. Though this time, feeling extremely lighter.