Lessons About a Price Too High
Prologue
The War was over and Voldemort was dead. Those were the two primary thoughts in everyone's mind. But the man, standing in the middle of the cemetery overshadowed by the Riddle House, had something else to think about.
Yes, Harry Potter, at age twenty six, was back at the village of Little Hangleton… not that you would call it a village anymore. It was more of a ghost town now. The mere charred remains of what had once been, if not a prosperous, at least, a lively place. There would be no more houses built here though, not at the final battleground.
It was fitting for him to die here Harry thought, as he began walking around the graveyard. The once small cemetery was now the home of over seventy new headstones and as Harry continued along, he could name each one.Neville Longbottom… Ronald Weasley… Arthur Weasley… Bill (William) Weasley… Hermione Granger… and so many more. It seemed as if everyone he knew had passed away. Maybe they had.
When he came to a particularly large headstone, Harry stopped. Fingers clenched tightly he closed his eyes as he turned to face the headstone. He didn't open them. He already knew who this particular headstone belonged to, one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
Harry had never quite forgiven the old headmaster after his fifth year but it had still been a shock to hear of his untimely death at the hands what was once Harry's worst enemy. As hard as he tried to deny it, Dumbledore had been a kind of an anchor for Harry; the thing that remained the same when everything else withered and died.
Eyes still closed, Harry dove his hands into the pockets of his robes and dug around for the time turner. Reminder of his headmaster had given Harry the resolve he needed to carry on with what he was about to do. Once he used the time turner, he knew there was no turning back.