Title: Ash
Authoress: beatrixfornow
Summary: Ash is the final condition of all things, as one Prophet reporter will find when interviewing Harry Potter in the aftermath of the war.
Updated: August 27, 2006 – Complete
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"…only for ten minutes, I swear, if you—"
"I understand. Ten minutes only, that's all I need. Besides, I've read about his…condition."
"…He might…he might say some things that seem…(pausing) there is no truth in the Prophet anymore. I suggest you don't—"
"It's not just the Prophet, though I can understand your displeasure in the light of some of the recent events. Perhaps, I could ask you some questions about your friend here—another human angle to this—"
"You can put those quills away Regina. I've dealt with your aunt before; I do not need another spineless reporter printing lies. (a purse snaps shut) If you are not finished in ten minutes—"
"I understand." (she moves to open the curtain)
"…Muggles call it amnesia, but that doesn't quite suit this situation. Sometimes he'll forget things, but only occasionally…"
"Quite the little medi-witch aren't you? Muggle-born and all that…"
"Ms. Skeeter."
"Ms. Granger. Good day."
"Mr. Harry Potter, sir! Regina Skeeter from the Prophet." (she extends a hand)
"Pleasure." (he looks away)
"Yes, well Mr. Potter—may I call you Harry?—no?—well, then Harry, let's start. I have a few questions for you, regarding the War—oh don't mind the quill, love. How did you feel when Hogwarts fell? I understand it was at the end of your 7th year? Did you ever go back and visit? Too painful, hm?"
"I was my home for seven years, when the fire happened…I think it took a part of everyone with it. Hogwarts belonged to everyone. I never went back."
"Do you ever think about it?"
"It lives in my dreams, and I remember everything about it. It held my secrets, so mch so that I've forgotten some of them and where I've put them. Magic, (he nods) as you know."
"Of course, dearie. Mr. Potter, the first time you came face-to-face with, er, You-Know-Who, I was told that there was a mirror that had to do a great deal with it. Do you care to elaborate?"
"The Mirror of Erised. It was destroyed."
"In the fire?"
"I destroyed it."
(quill scratches furiously) "Why? Did it hold a special connection to Voldemort as your scar is rumoured to have?"
"No. Yes. I destroyed it so that I wouldn't be tempted to use other mirrors. (He gestures around the room) See, no mirrors."
"Why is that?"
"The mirror shows lies."
"A mirror shows what there is, Mr. Potter."
(He looks away) "Because you haven't seen a mirror, the mirror, properly. (pause) I saw Voldemort in it , his face looking out at me from behind the glass. I am not Voldemort, I do not kill for pleasure."
"…You saw Voldemort in a mirror and destroyed it because it showed you evil?"
"Yes. It showed me myself. (He catches sight of her expression) It wasn't my bloody choice! (he clutches the bed sheet harshly) You needed a killer, well, I'm the fucking bastard you wanted! It was a leader—a killer—they needed for this war. And do you know what the most terrifying part of it all is?"
(he closes his eyes, silence, and the quill is tearing a hole in the parchment)
"I'm better at it than he ever was." (he laughs hysterically and knocks the vase of flowers to the floor) "I'M BETTER AT IT THAN THE EVER WAS! (his eyes snap open) "I'm a better KILLER because I could destroy him, because I was fucking happy when he was gone."
(the quill stops)
(quietly) "Doesn't that make us all bastards? Killers? Because we wanted him dead? It's a bloody, fucking game of politics here, in which one madman kills while the other moralizes and sends me to hell and back, trying to destroy something that we all are. Fucking hypocrites. What difference does it make that theirs angels are in black, and ours are in white? You can't even tell anymore. Do you know what color his blood was? Gray, neither black nor white, gray." (his eyes flash)
(neither speak for a minute, Regina shakes in her chair)
"It's hilarious, isn't it?" (he shakes his head and leans back) "I had this recurring dream, you know, all throughout the war." (she straightens) "I'll be in a tower in a castle, in a green room. Suddenly I'll be choked, bitten, strangled, squeezed y countless black and white snakes. I don't wish to die, Ms. Skeeter, but does it matter that I think the snakes are right?"
(pausing)
(he suddenly straightens and leans closer to his guest, his demeanor shifting)
"You are going to leave soon, so I should tell you something before you go."
"Go? (she starts and discreetly checks her watch) Mr. Potter, I still have—"
"Are you ready to hear?" (she notices that he is leaning towards her, with the air of someone who has a secret that has been kept too long)
"Er—wait— " (she fumbles with her quill)
(pause) "I went back to Hogwarts." (he smiles tightly)
"What did you see?"
(he closes his eyes) "…Nothing. Everything. Ash."
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"Ms. Skeeter, if you would follow me, the exit is on your left…"
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Harry Potter died peacefully moments later, in a white bed in a stark white room, with shattered glass and white lilies spilled on the floor, in a remote wing of St. Mungo's Hospital, his secret finally told.
It wouldn't be until later that someone noticed the light sprinkling of gray ash on his forehead, right where his scar should have been.
Fin