So it begins
The flickering candles covered the headmaster's face in rippling shadows.
"Voldemort… is dead… but not forgotten."
A stone, like any stone from a river or beach, sat in a small box. Except… it didn't shine, as though it trapped any light that touched it.
"Help the world… forget him… forever."
A lie once told
"Luna."
Moonlight trickled into the room, shimmering amongst her hair. With dilated pupils and eyes wide, she looked owlish. Her silver iris glinted. He found it difficult to break the gaze, but managed to take in the rest of the old classroom.
"Do you… trust me?"
She didn't make a sound when she breathed. His heart thumped in his chest and pounded against his ears. Her chest didn't rise and fall. No idle tapping. The only part he'd seen move was her eyes, following him as he shuffled to a desk. He sat on it, trying not to face her.
Ignoring the complicated thoughts, he focused on the one that said she looked like a Goddess. The moon caressed her like it would if she were its avatar, or a chosen priestess, or something like that. An image fit for an old masterpiece, whether carved in marble or painted on a shrine.
He looked away from her, and the thought subsided.
"I know, Luna." He took a deep breath, staring down at his hands. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be there when you needed me."
The words hung in the air.
"Do you remember seeing your mum die?"
When he glanced at her, she still hadn't taken her gaze off of him.
"I guess it's not easy to forget. Spell research gone wrong, that doesn't sound nice at all. Did she die quickly?"
Licking his lips, the air tasted dry.
"It must have been horrible. Did you feel helpless?"
The light dimmed. There hadn't been any clouds when he looked.
"Do you have nightmares about it still? Dreams where your mum begs you for help, or where she blames you?"
His breath hung in the air.
"Do you remember the Dementors? I hate them. Because of them, I remembered seeing my mum die, and I was just a baby. Did they make you remember too?"
Stretching up, he wiggled his fingers and rolled his wrists, and then rested his right hand in his pocket.
"I need to know, Luna. The Aurors are coming. If you're going to be hearing your mum beg for the rest of your life, I'll kill you right here. I can't help you, but I can give you that. I can spare you that suffering."
She jerked her hand to a pocket and yanked out a wand, pointing it straight at him. For a moment. Then, the wand quivered.
"I deserve it," he said. "I let you down. I failed you."
Leaning back and looking up, he blew out a cloud towards the ceiling.
"Just so you know, the poison wouldn't have worked. You messed up the second part, the activator." Seconds ticked by. "I think you did it on purpose. You didn't want to hurt them. The Luna I know wouldn't hurt anyone."
He smiled, sitting straight again.
"Listening to all these kids complaining about their parents, it's hard, isn't it? They have no idea how much we want just a moment with our mums, with my dad." He paused. "Killing their parents won't give you back your mum. It won't make the memories go away. It won't make the make the nightmares stop."
Her left hand moved up, pressing against herself just below her neckline.
"You know, smell is really good for triggering memories," he said, moving his hand out of his pocket. Her eyes dropped to follow. "So, I'm sorry."
He lifted his thumb and nothing happened. Slowly, his mouth filled with a strange taste, almost like an old copper penny.
Her stillness gave to a barely perceptible tremble.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered.
Fast, faster, her chest rose and fell, and the light began to shimmer amongst her sweat. The wand drooped, though not let go.
He pushed himself up, and put the vial on the windowsill. The sheer strength of the smell made it pungent, though the taste still covered his tongue and dominated his mind. She retreated back what little she could as he walked towards her, looking more cornered animal than human.
She mumbled something, but he couldn't hear. Closer, he had to listen a few times to make it out.
"Blood is red."
Again and again, she said it. Her left hand clutched her robe. He went to pry open her hand, but she jerked away when he touched her.
"No!" she said, shaking her head.
"Luna, can I see it?" he said. "It's precious and beautiful, isn't it? A gift from your mum? I just want to look, will you show it to me?"
She squeezed even tighter, shuffling along the wall while he stayed where he was.
"Please?"
The silence extended, seconds trickling by, until she relaxed her hand. She reached in and took out a pebble-like gemstone, attached to a thin, silver chain. He expected the stone to glint, but even for a black stone it looked far too dark.
The unnaturalness intrigued him and he wanted to feel it. It looked like it felt cold and heavy, and there was an engraving on it, some kind of symbol, that beckoned him.
Catching himself, he stilled his hand.
"Luna, do you want to go see your mum?" he said, barely above a whisper yet it cut through the room.
"Mummy?" she said, voice full of innocence, so childish, more so than the voice he remembered.
"Yeah," he said. "Let's go see her."
She nodded, just a little.
He stepped closer and she lowered her arms, closing her eyes. Closer and closer, until he could reach out and touch her. He brought a hand to her cheek, dragging it down to her neck where his other hand joined it.
She shivered. His hands wanted to clench, he could feel the muscles straining to squeeze. He took a deep breath, and prepared himself.
In a flash, he lowered his hands and hooked his thumbs under the necklace, yanking outwards and snapping the chain. Before she could catch it, he grabbed her, keeping her arms in place. She howled as the stone clinked on the floor.
"I'm sorry," he said, clutching her tight as she writhed. "I'm so, so sorry."
It took minutes for her spasms to subside, and his arms ached something ferocious even with the adrenaline still pumping. He didn't let go. After adjusting, he carried her over to the window and shattered it with his elbow.
The fresh air started wiping the taste from his mouth. With a little shove, the vial fell off too.
She started shivering in his arms. He sat down on the floor and let her curl up, though still alert. When she hadn't moved for a bit, he quickly got out his wand and cast a charm. The cold leaked away, and her shivers stopped. Eventually, he felt her breathing change.
Finally relaxing, but he didn't move his gaze away from the pebble that seemed to drink the light.
"I'm sorry."
He closed the old book on poisons. The Black Library, he thought, was where he'd seen it, on one of those nights when he and Remus would read something interesting that didn't require a blood sacrifice to open.
Stopping himself from ignoring the truth in front of him, he confirmed she had made no mistake.
Cannot be forgiven
It had been nearly a month and a half ago that he had scrambled up so many stairs.
Hallow's Eve had him doing so once more, tripping and bruising and slipping as he gave everything to get there even a second faster. The tower spiralled into the night sky, not that there were any windows to show that. Far later than he would have liked, he stumbled against the door, finding it unlocked and unwilling to support him. His shoulder broke his fall, but the shock of pain that rattled through him blanked his head for a long moment.
He blinked a few times, tears trickling away, before crawling to his knees and gulping down the thin, cold air. Thinking returned to him and he sat up, only to start rocking with dizziness. After a few more seconds, his vision settled, and he saw her.
"Lavender," he said with whatever air he could spare.
She looked at him, though he couldn't really make anything out. In the darkness, she was nothing more than a silhouette sitting on the parapet. Her legs lay over the edge, a step away from the abyss.
"Hey Harry," she said.
Pushing up, he staggered a bit before leaning against the doorframe. Thoughts crowded for precedence, grinding to a halt.
"Good timing, really. I've got something for you," she said, carefully taking off a bracelet before throwing it over to him. In the grim, it was barely a blur, but his hand snapped into place and caught it. She laughed, not the giggle she normally used. "Good catch."
"Thanks," he said.
Looking over the jewellery, it was a dull brass or similar, but with a dark stone dangling off. An eerily familiar stone, with the same engraved pattern. He thought it looked like a snake's eye.
"It's gorgeous, right? Give it to Parv for me, will you?"
Since he had the stone, he thought his job was done. What she wanted to do wasn't any of his business. It's not like she asked him to come or anything like that.
"Sure," he said.
Dropping it into his pocket, it crinkled the papers he'd folded up. The thought of just leaving lingered, like a foul taste.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I read some of your Divination homework."
The wind whistled through the gaps in the stones, chilling him to the bone. He took out his wand and spelled himself before putting it back.
"Do you think I'm stupid?" she asked.
He shifted his feet around, finding a more comfortable position. "Not really. You passed your O.W.L.s, right?"
She laughed. "Barely. Besides, everyone passes them, even Crabbe and Goyle. Like, I didn't make it into any real N.E.W.T. classes. I mean, does Divination really count? It's fun and stuff, but it's not real magic, is it? No one's gonna be impressed when they hear I got that N.E.W.T."
She laughed again, though it dragged on, quieting into silence.
"I'm just useless, you know? I tried to study, I really did, but I keep, like, getting distracted. It's too hard for me. What am I gonna do when I have to, you know, get a job and stuff? I'm rubbish, there's no way I'll go a month before I'm fired. I'll spend all day messing up and tire myself out and, just…" she said.
A twinge of annoyance struck him. She complained about how hard studying for her easy classes was, when he had Transfiguration and Charms and more to work on, while being a Prefect and Quidditch Captain. Even when he quit the team and gave the badge over to Ron, it was only because he had even more Prefect work to do, what with Hermione being Head Girl.
And the responsibility left to him.
Then, he let it pass.
"It's not gonna get any easier, right? I, I don't want to deal with it. Even on weekends, Parv has to drag me out of bed, and I don't want to do anything. Nothing's fun like it was. I just want it to be over, you know?"
He shook his head. "No, I don't."
She laughed. "I guess. I'm weird, right? I'm broken. This is, like, the best thing for me."
"You asked for help," he said.
Though he couldn't tell, he felt like her eyes were on him.
"I think," he said, reaching into his pockets.
She didn't reply, though the wind kept whistling.
Taking out the parchments, he held them towards her. "These are you asking for help, aren't they? Because you didn't know the words?"
She didn't reply.
He lowered his arm. "I don't really know," he said. "Maybe it is the best thing. But, do you believe that? Are you sure that you're gonna suffer like this forever?"
"Yeah, I am," she said.
He leafed through the pages. "You don't have even a little hope?" he asked. "Because, some of these dreams don't sound so bad."
"I just started making them up," she said. "Professor Trelawney stopped giving everyone who saw their own deaths good marks."
The wind ruffled the page in his hand. "You wrote a lot about a cottage," he said. "A little place out in the countryside, where you live with your husband and kids."
"I don't remember that," she said. "But I made a lot of stuff up. It doesn't mean anything."
"It sounds nice. You stay at home to care for the kids, and he works a Ministry job. But, he makes sure he's home on time every day and spends most of the weekends doing fun things as a family. Stuff like picnics and going for hikes and barbecues."
The wind tried to snatch the pages from him, but he held tight.
"That's a bit old fashioned, isn't it?" she said.
"You can have old fashioned dreams if you want," he said. "Does it sound like the sort of dream you want?"
Silence stretched for a moment. "It… doesn't sound too bad."
"You could have it."
Silence, for a moment. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why am I in Gryffindor? Like, I know the Sorting Hat, but I'm a coward, right? I just… want to run away."
The clouds broke overhead, but the moon couldn't be seen.
Though reluctant, he answered. "To me, bravery is about doing what you think is the right thing. It doesn't matter if you're scared or not, because it's the right thing to do. You're brave so you do it, no matter what anyone else says."
Silence.
"I brought all of the dream diaries where you wrote about the cottage. Did you want to read them?"
After a moment, she answered, "Yes."
She moved slowly, bringing her legs up and over the parapet before sliding onto the rooftop. Awkwardly, she walked over, legs stiff. He held out the pages and, just as she went to take them, a burst of wind threw them across.
With a burst of speed he chased after them, fingertips just shy, until he barrelled into the parapet. Off into the night, the papers flew. Turning around, he said, "I'm so sorry, I-" before she interrupted.
"It's okay." She looked out into the distance. "You wouldn't lie about it, right? So I guess I did write all that."
The edge of the horizon broke into a band of orange, the darkness blending into a pale blue.
"I wanted to see the sunrise," she said, softly. "I've been here six years and didn't see it once. I thought it'd be a nice last thing."
He didn't reply, but he moved next to her. It seemed to happen quickly, the invasion of colours, burning the clouds and lighting the forest.
"Can we share a secret?" she asked. He turned to her, and found her looking up at him. Reddened eyes, pale skin, a faint smile.
"Sure," he said. "What secret?"
She stretched up and kissed him. He stood still, and then she pulled back. Her lips were cold, freezing, blue. She collapsed, barely in his reach. He staggered, not able to keep both of them up, but fell to the floor without cracking her head on the stones.
Amongst the panic in his head, a thought told him that he could just leave her there, and grant her wish.
It calmed him. Then, he drew his wand.
His eyes shot open. It had been a nice dream, before that evening. It had been, it had been, it had been, and never again would be, a nice dream. The arguing over nothing, the dirt that covered the house, the look of hate on the children's faces; the violence.
It used to be such a nice dream.
Repeated again
He wasn't entirely sure if he liked taking the stairs at a reasonable pace. Thinking didn't suit him all that much. It tended to put up obstacles rather than help.
The door opened.
Low candles lit the room, though the stonework didn't give much ambience. Or, rather, a cold, dull one. A clash.
"Hey, Hannah."
Her school robe tightened in places; a thin, black belt barely noticeable around her waist, and the tension around her shoulders gave as her arms let go.
"A bit cold for no shoes, isn't it? Nearly December already. Time flies, huh?"
Her heel lifted as she turned, looking at him over her shoulder.
He met her gaze.
She turned the rest of herself around, the front of her robe drooping low. "To be honest, I'm feeling a bit hot," she said, running a finger down to her belt. "Maybe I should take this off."
"You're not very good at this."
Her eyes narrowed, just for a moment. She fiddled with the buckle, not breaking the stare they shared, before finally undoing the belt and dropping it to the floor. The robe opened up. She teased it over her shoulders and let it drop too.
He didn't look away from her eyes, not that it stopped him from being aware of the rest of her. With every beat of his heart, he could feel the desire to touch her, to smell her hair and taste her lips, and feel the softness of her skin.
And, he could see the choker around her neck, the black material standing out on her skin. Hanging from that, he could feel the abyss pulling on his attention.
The desire that burned fizzled. He didn't want to feel like that, driven by emotions.
"I've got a question for you," he said. "It's important."
She took a step forward. "What is it?"
"What did you do to those boys?" he said, and she took a step back, eyes wider – for a moment.
"I just… indulged them," she said.
He took a deep breath, and let it out through his nose. "Did you mess with their heads? A little Memory Charm? Just a Confundus? Or a bit of dress-up and Transfiguration?"
"They wanted to, I didn't have to use magic on them," she said, before standing up a little taller. "Well, some might say I used a woman's magic to enthral them."
A flick of the wrist brought his wand out. "Did you rape them?"
A shiver ran through her. "N-no!"
"Did you cast a spell on them? Any spell?"
She shook her head, still not breaking their shared gaze.
He put his wand away, and she sighed.
"Grow up," he said, turning away. "Get over whatever Susan did to you."
His hand rested on the doorknob when she grabbed the back of his shirt and muttered something.
"What?"
She gripped his shirt tighter, and leant in closer. "She doesn't love me."
"So?"
"Why not?" she whispered. "We're so close, and I'm funny and kind, and sexy. Can't she see we'd be perfect together? I'd treat her so nicely, she'd be so happy."
"That's her loss."
He felt her tense, a slight shake running through her arm. "I have to do this, to make her happy. You understand, don't you? As long as we're together she'll be happy."
"You're hurting her so much right now it'd be better if you were dead."
She let go of his shirt and staggered back. "No, no, without me she'd never be happy."
He shook his head. "She'll find someone else to love."
Her footsteps stopped.
"She'll hate you because of what you did. Or worse, she'll forget all about you."
He waited a few seconds before turning around. She'd crumpled to the floor, holding her hands over her face.
"What's wrong with me?" she murmured.
He walked to her, standing over her. "If you killed yourself, she'd blame herself. She'd never forget you. You'd always be haunting her dreams."
She stilled, and then looked up with watery eyes.
"Always."
A smile formed, a beautiful smile.
He Summoned her robe, and took out her wand for her. She held it loosely before squeezing it and pointing it at herself, at her heart, pressing it hard enough to draw blood.
"Could… could you give her my choker?" she said, using her other hand to touch the stone and then undo the clasp at the back. "Something to remember me by."
He knelt down to accept it, nodding as he slipped it into his pocket. Then, when she closed her eyes, and thoughts of letting her do what she wanted to, of leaving with his prize filled his head, he reached out to her.
Often, more than often, he remembered the trickle of blood that ran down her. His imagination would take it further, a stream of blood on deathly white skin. Faster his heart would beat, beyond painful.
The Winter Solstice brought him to Grimmauld Place. Remus didn't have any particular attachment to the Muggle holiday, and neither of them fancied fending for themselves at the Burrow; there hadn't been much to be merry for.
If the bookcases had been unnerving before, the additions from the locked cellar made the room pulsate. The ashes burnt into the carpet attested to the need for worrying.
Sheets of notes littered the floor, others bound into stacks. Runes, Latin and German and French, theory and facts and myth; it would be maddening to try and bring it all together. Even knowing the common theme, he could barely follow.
"How can you even contain a soul?" Remus asked the pile of books, before mumbling more to himself.
The Tale of the Three Brothers and how it related to the stones eluded Remus. Obviously, they had been modelled on the Resurrection Stone, but the only meaningful part tying them together was that they meddled with souls, perhaps that they intended to resurrect You-Know-Who.
"I never thought the day would come where I'd rather risk my life in a duel over researching," Remus muttered.
It cannot be forgotten
A sliver of the moon hung in the sky, and the blanket of snow glistened across the grounds.
"Can't wait for practises to start up, eh?"
She stilled, and then turned around.
"It's been ages since I've gone for a fly. Feels like I've been locked in a cupboard for years," he said, stretching up into the sky. "The icy wind, the weightlessness, the rush, better than treacle tart I'd say."
Nodding, she said, "Yeah, it's great."
"Have a good Christmas?"
"Yeah, lot's of fun. Missed you, though."
He smiled weakly. "Well, that's N.E.W.T.s for you."
"Hermione managed."
"Hermione's brilliant. She'd ace them if she sat them yesterday."
She looked away. "And Ron."
"Yeah, I saw Ron drooling on a Charms book on my way out."
She giggled, covering her mouth.
"Did you like your present?"
"Oh, yes, they're great," she said, holding a gloved hand up and stretching her fingers. "It's like I'm not even wearing anything."
"Definitely too cold for that."
She paused for a second before hitting him on the arm. "Prat."
He smiled, moving his gaze from her to the distant hoops. "You know, there's a lot of rumours going around." After a moment, he added, "About you."
The sound of her steady breathing disappeared, replaced by silence.
"It's none of my business, what you do is up to you. I'm just reminding you that secrets don't work at Hogwarts. Something about Snape poisoning the food with truth serum, or so I hear."
From his pocket, he took out a large, bronze key. It fit into the lock to the old Quidditch shed. Swapping the key for his wand, he summoned a broomstick.
"By the way, that ring you have – that you're wearing now? I'll trade it for my Firebolt."
He held it over his shoulder, turning around to face her.
"Are you serious?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said, nodding.
Ripples of emotions peppered her face, betraying the argument in her head. That her greed could match the fragment of a soul that had invaded her, that had spent months forging a hold on her… he felt disgusted, though he didn't show it. She didn't even ask why. He kept the muscles in his face relaxed, kept the grip on the broom loose, kept his breathing normal.
A part of him wanted her to pay with more than just the stone. Another part wanted to cut her finger off to take the stone and keep the broom. Yet another saw no need to interfere; she'd found some twisted happiness in her choices.
As though tearing off her own nail, she eased off the ring.
"You're not kidding, right? You want to swap this old ring for you Firebolt? Forever?"
He took the broom off his shoulder, pointing it towards her. "Yeah."
She shuffled over. Between her fingers: a golden band that almost glowed in the gloom, and a spot of darkness. She lowered it onto his hand, not letting go until he closed his fingers over it.
"Here, have a good fly," he said, handing over the broom.
"What about you?" she asked, her voice a little lighter.
He shrugged, walking back towards the castle. "Lock up when you're done."
If baseless rumours spread like fire, then a rumour proved by an expensive racing broom spread like a firestorm. There had been a look between him and Ron. A lot of his relationships had been strained. Better would be to say corroded, or eroded.
Alone, without ever a moment free to feel lonely.
For a third time
He opened the door, smooth on its hinges.
She tried to smirk, he thought. It didn't look natural on her face. He'd always seen it as a childish face, even though she'd grown up.
"Good to see you," she said. "I did wonder when you would come. The dashing knight, are you? Saving poor Hannah from mean old me?"
He strode across the room, not quickly but without hesitation. One foot in front of the other, until they came close to her and she took a couple of steps back while staring him in the eyes. Though not much taller than her, the small gap between them had her looking up.
A moment passed.
"Well, it's good to see chivalry isn't-" she began.
"Be quiet," he said.
A shiver ran down her spine.
It stirred deep inside him, a desire to spill her blood. Everything about her that he could see, and everything he'd seen and been told, made him want to do it the easy way and take that stupid bracelet off her dead body.
"Hurry," she began, stopping as he leaned just a touch forward. "Up," she muttered.
"You're scum," he said. "The worst kind of scum."
Her lips thinned, hands clenched.
"Does it make you feel good to hurt her? Do you feel powerful? Do you tell yourself you're kind for sparing her life? Or do you tell yourself you're doing the right thing by serving out your own justice?" He leant closer, their noses an inch apart. "Because I just see you as pathetic."
She slapped him, hard.
He slapper her back, harder. She staggered sideways while clutching the side of her face, tears forming in her eyes.
"How could-" she began.
"I'm not a victim," he said. "If you hit me, I'm gonna hit you back harder. You want to use magic, go ahead. But, do you really think you could kill me? Not like, can you handle killing someone, but do you think you can kill me if I don't let you."
The words hung in the air.
"I should say, do you think you can kill me before I can kill you?"
She straightened herself up, one hand resting on the wall behind her. The aloofness had left her, and he found a strange enjoyment in that. She looked like an animal, prey, he thought, waiting for an opportunity to run.
"So, what is it?" he asked.
Her hand held her wand, tight.
He smiled. "What've you got to say for yourself? Come on, you were so chatty before."
Her knuckles whitened. "She… she ruined me! I'm a whore. Everyone calls me that behind my back. Boys keep asking me to do…. They lie and say I did it anyway!"
He held his wand loosely, rolling it between his fingertips.
"I want to hurt them back, isn't that fair? Liars need to be punished otherwise they keep lying. But, I can't, can I? They just say it's a joke, or pretend they didn't say it and I look like I'm the liar, I'm the one making up stories to get them in trouble. A no good attention seeker."
A smile pulled at her lips.
"Hannah wants to make it up to me, though. She'll do anything to make it up to me. So, I take all that pain I feel and give it to her. It's her fault anyway, so it's fair. She has to take responsibility."
"That's not how friendship works," he said. "There's no tally, there's no getting even. Either you can forgive her and be friends, or you end it."
"Oh you're one to talk about friends," she said. "Everyone's gossiping about you. On the outs with Weasley, arguing with Granger, haven't spoken to Loony all year. Even Longbottom avoids you. But, you got something good going with Ginny, haven't you? Some friend you are."
He tapped his wand against his leg, and let the apathy he felt show. "You finished?"
She scowled. "It doesn't even make you angry? Did they mean nothing to you all these years?"
"They're the most important people in the world for me. I'd give my life for them."
"Then why are you throwing them away? Why aren't you mad?"
He answered, "It's easy to hurt people you care about when you think you're doing the right thing."
A moment passed.
"And, I'm not angry because that's not something to get angry about. What is worth getting mad over is the scars Hannah's gonna have for the rest of her life, reminding her of the pain she felt."
Another shiver ran down her spine.
"Sh-she deserves them. Besides, she's broken. I mean, come on, she's in love with me! That's just wrong. She's not a kid any more. She's, she's nothing more than a freak, a-" she said.
He removed the distance between them and held her against the wall with his forearm against her neck, his other arm holding her wrist, pointing it towards the floor.
Their noses an inch apart, he said, "No."
Her breathing sounded strained, and her free arm tried to pry his away from her throat. Then, she tried to reach his face, but he moved over to block her arm with his body.
"I could tell your family what you've done. You look up to your aunt, right? Want to join the DMLE just like her? I bet she'd love to hear about all this. The beating, the cutting, bleeding her to an inch of her life. Telling her she's worthless, she's lucky to have you, making her thank you."
He pressed harder, raising her jaw.
"You're scum, and the world's gonna be a better place when I kill you. I'm gonna make it quick, and then I'll tell the world what you did with your own blood. Everyone will know you for the psychopath you are."
He squeezed her wrist until the wand clattered to the floor.
"Don't worry, Hannah has an alibi, I made sure of that."
Her wide eyes watered, lips quivered, hyperventilating.
"Goodbye," he whispered.
Spasms racking her, she writhed against him and found no give. A second or a minute or an hour later, he couldn't tell, he tore the bracelet from her and let her crash to the floor.
The common room had no company but the crackling fire. It would be wrong to call what he did sleeping, but it took the edge off the tiredness. From time to time he'd fall off the chair, not always waking up when he did; from time to time, he'd wake up on the floor and continue to lay down there.
It becomes truth
He opened the bottle of Ogden's Finest. Just the smell threatened to singe his nose hairs. He thought about taking a swig before handing it over.
"Another for you."
She slurred her way through a thank you.
"No problem."
Bottles littered the floor around them, the odd drip hitting the floor. The reeking wasn't something he got used to, but it didn't bother him enough to open a window.
"I'm sorry, for this," he said, gesturing at her.
She was slumped against the wall, a broad smile on her face as she stared down the neck of the firewhisky.
"Really, I am. I'm gonna hurt you, and I don't have to. There's a better way to do this, it's just… hard. Tiring. And I'm already tired. You know?"
She clinked the mouth of the bottle against her teeth, a dribble running down her chin.
"It's not that I'm doing the wrong thing. There's a lot of right ways, but some of them are better than others. I'm doing something in the middle. It's not the worst right way, but not the best right way."
Her eyes watered and head swayed.
"You deserve better, though. So, after all this is done, I'll try and make it up to you. I dunno how. You like books, right? Of course you do, you're a Ravenclaw. I've got a library I'll give to you. The Ministry will probably toss most of it in a fire, but I'm sure some of the books'll be okay. I think there's some cookbooks that don't include Muggle recipes, those should be fine. Maybe the history books, since those are about killing goblins and stuff."
She burped, and giggled, covering her mouth.
He reached over, ruffling her hair with a faint smile.
"I wish I could take the pain in your place," he said. "But you're the one who let him in. You're the one who collapsed and rebuilt yourself around him."
She tried to shove him away when he held her hand, but ended up falling over herself, giggling some more.
"I'll be right here, okay? You're not alone."
He slid the ring off.
The nightmares had become reassuring. A reminder of his progress. The loneliness had become relieving. A break from the lies. The ache in his bones had become grounding. An anchor from his feelings.
Cannot be taken back
Stars glittered on the ceiling.
"Daphne."
She sat in the headmistress's chair.
"So, you're alone?" she asked. "No Mudblood? No blood traitor? Not even the little slut? Have you repulsed them all that much?"
"Yeah, yeah I have."
She laughed, the sound clinking against the walls. "Wonderful! It's almost like friendship is a fickle thing that sticks around in the good times and leaves when the times get hard."
He walked across the hall, stopping a bit short of the High Table. His gaze fell on her head, an unnatural depression on her hair.
"Yes, very clever," she said, tapping her head. A headband trickled into existence, with a black stone at its centre. "Once upon a time, this silver was Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem. Isn't that fascinating?"
"No."
She smirked, twirling her wand. "So, what can I do for you? Are you here to ask me to turn myself in? Are you afraid you might have to hurt me? Do I not understand what I'm doing?"
He eased his wand out of a pocket, rolling it between his fingers before holding it loosely in his hand. "Something like that."
"Well, go on then. Don't make me do all the work. We have to create the atmosphere together, otherwise this will be a rather dreadful end to your life, don't you think?"
He shrugged. "I'm just tired of this."
She sneered, pointing her wand at him. "I'm awfully sorry. Perhaps next time I'll only make three."
"There won't be a next time," he said.
"That's it, that's the sort of talk we need," she said, clapping her hands together. "What's next? Is it time to threaten me?"
"Sure," he said. He took a deep breath, and stepped forwards, standing tall. His grip on his wand refined itself.
She stood up herself, walking around the side of the table; nothing was between them. "Should I make a speech first, or do you want to?"
He didn't reply.
"Well then, I guess I will."
She drew herself up, positioning her feet.
"Yes, you've caught the mastermind behind all this. I'm the one responsible. In the dark recesses of this castle, I found this headband, and when I wore it I felt the presence of another. Though afraid at first, the Dark Lord truly cared for me and guided me to success. He led me to his brothers and I found those susceptible to his whispering.
"I had intended to wait for all of them to embrace him as I had, but they struggled in their petty desires and, before that time had come, you swooped in and," she paused, a look of disgust on her face. "Saved them."
She took a deep breath, the look rolling off her face.
"Together, we would unite the remnants of my master and give him form once more. Without that blabbering old fool to oppose him, there would be no resistance to his vision, his dream. All too soon, the world would be a place of prosperity and magic once again. A place clean of the Muggle filth, where we would truly belong and truly be happy."
"Are you done?"
She sighed, her wand idly drawing a figure of eight in the air. "I suppose. You should pay attention to theatrics though, I'm doing this all for your benefit."
"His plan is to invade you, break you to his will, and then force you to get pregnant so his soul can replace the child's."
Her wand stilled.
"All he wants is power, because he's afraid of dying. He's a disgusting parasite clawing at life when he has no right to."
He paused, for a moment.
"There's a lot of things in life I don't know. My morals are pretty messed up after dealing with this all year. But, I will kill him. I can't let him exist. I'll sacrifice my life to do it. I'll sacrifice my friendships, my sanity, anything of mine I'll happily give up to end him."
Raising his wand, he gave his final words to her.
"If you intend to help him come back, I will kill you. It will be quick and efficient and I'll live the rest of my life in Azkaban, drowning in misery, and it'll be worth it."
She raised her wand, and it ended.
"For the record, are you Harry James Potter?"
The room looked much different under the headmistress. More like a library, he thought. The shelves held books instead of contraptions. Probably more books filled the cabinet and dresser, if not paperwork. It wasn't the kind of room that the kids would talk about in whispers, coming up with all sorts of plans to try and get a peek.
"I repeat, are you Harry James Potter, son of James and Lily Potter?"
Of course, things had to change. She couldn't be like him. She had her own path to walk. She wanted to change the world too, in her own way.
"Were you present when Daphne Greengrass was murdered?"
Still, he could spot a couple of things that had remained: a few Transfiguration books, quite at home; some pens and paperweights; an old snitch. He'd been told why the old headmaster had kept the snitch, though it eluded him at the moment.
"The spell that killed Miss Greengrass came from your wand. Did anyone have access to your wand, with or without your permission?"
It always perked up when he looked at, he thought.
"Did you cast the spell that caused Miss Greengrass's death?"
The Auror stood up, dragging out a sigh as he rubbed his head.
"Look, Harry, Headmistress McGonagall called me in specifically. She called in favours to make sure I was the one here. I don't know why. I don't care why. All I'm here to do is find the truth and right now the truth is that you killed Daphne. If that's not the truth, you need to give me something, anything, to go on."
Walking over to the desk, the Auror picked up a clear bag, with seven stones inside it.
"What are these? They're enchanted, it appears with mood depressives, maybe suppressives. Someone else will have to tear them apart before we know exactly. But, they're out of your league. I doubt anyone in this castle could have made them. So, how did they come into your possession?"
"Grimmauld Place has research on them. Maybe that'll help destroy them, I don't know."
The Auror hummed. "I see. The old Black family home. Quite the story it was, and a strong reminder of why even the most open and shut case needs to be investigated. One innocent man in Azkaban is too many."
He stared at the snitch, the little wings trembling like an excited puppy playing dead.
"So then, the question is why did you have the stones. Were they in your possession or hers?"
It had been an occasion, he thought.
"It's an important question. If they influenced either you or her, then the charge would be different. It could be manslaughter, self-defence, or you could be ruled incapable."
The first time….
"I think you had them. You want them destroyed, correct? So then you think they are dangerous. Considering they haven't had a significant effect on anyone else, I think you've had them for a long time and they've slowly done something to you."
He remembered, it had been the first time Gryffindor had won a Quidditch game against Slytherin for a long time. Since his father had graduated. The old headmaster and new headmistress, while obviously impartial, were Gryffindor alumni and, on some level, fans of the game. A good memory, the light at the end of a tunnel, and a good omen, the start of six years of victories.
"Yet, you surrendered your wand, and have shown no intention of running away or doing anything to compromise the investigation. Except your refusal to answer my questions, but I do accept that it is your right to refrain from answering."
Six years of enjoying school. Even third year had its moments; his reunion with Remus and Sirius, even if he'd only had an evening with the latter.
Someone knocked on the door, a muffled voice asking, "Auror Shacklebolt?"
"Yes, yes," he replied, walking over.
He looked at the snitch, and smiled. Raising his bound hands, he beckoned it over. For a moment, he thought it wouldn't come, then it shook itself and fluttered into the air. Barely a sound, barely a blur, it flitted over, nestling into his hand.
The Auror turned and shouted, "What are you doing?"
The gold peeled back and, hidden inside, sat a stone. Though, it was hard to tell, looking instead like the inside of the snitch trapped any light that dared enter. No symbol graced the stone, yet he could see it.
The Auror burst across the room, elbow sinking into the corner of the chair, a moment from sending it over.
He pressed a thumb against the stone.
Ending the lie
Everything looked white. The sky had no blue, the platform no grey, the locomotive no red.
Harry didn't know why he'd come to such a place, but it reassured him. More than the castle itself, the Express represented his escape from the Dursleys all those years ago. It had been where he met his friends, and Remus.
The Hogwarts Express had always felt as solid as tons of steel ought to. A bridge between Muggle and Magical. More reliable than the sun that set at different times every day, or the moon that waxed and waned. A metaphor for what he'd needed all those years ago, and the moment right now.
"It is beautiful, is it not?"
He turned around, a smile already on his face. "Yes, headmaster."
"I think, given the circumstances, Albus will do," he said, walking next to Harry.
Harry reached out to the metal, and found it warm to the touch and as solid as it looked.
"I wish it could have been better circumstances though," Albus said. "I understand that fate has proven cruel."
Without replying, Harry nodded, hanging his head.
"There's no need for that, my boy. While it has been grim, good has triumphed, has it not? You succeeded as I always knew you would."
A faint smile brushed Harry's lips. "I did."
Though the station lacked the sounds of chattering schoolchildren and gossiping parents, it still had the hissing of the faux-steam engine. At any moment, it seemed, the train would leave.
"Now though, I am afraid there is one last challenge, but I have every faith in you."
Harry looked away from the Express and up at Albus. Even though he'd grown up, he still didn't see eye to eye.
"You may board the Hogwarts Express, and you will return to Hogwarts where all your friends await your return," he said, gesturing at the train before turning around and looking to the exit of the platform. "Or, you may leave Platform nine-and-three-quarters, returning to the real world."
"The… real world?"
Albus smiled, though sadness touched his eyes. "Yes, Harry. You see, all these years have been a dream. The truth is that magic does not exist. You are, and always have been, a poor boy, abused to the edge of life. This time has been for you to heal, to grow stronger. And now, you are strong enough. You can return to your life having conquered yourself.
"You can wake up."
Those words hung in the back of Harry's head, echoing as though from a great distance.
"Of course, the choice is up to you, Harry. You may do what is easy," he said, gesturing back to the train. "Or, what is right," he said, gesturing to the exit. "It is your choice, and yours alone. But, I have faith in you."
For a moment, silence, and then Harry began to laugh. He tried to stop, but he could only hold it in for a second or two before bursting out again. Louder and louder, until he could barely stand, bent over and clutching his stomach.
Albus looked on with concern. When the laughter subsided into little more than chuckles, he said, "What, if I may ask, did you find so funny?"
"You- you know how sometimes, even when you think you know what something means, it finally clicks? All of a sudden, you realise what it meant all along?" He paused, and then added, "Of course you do, you're reading my mind."
Harry looked up at Albus, though his pleasant expression had lost its feeling of friendliness.
"Dumbledore thought courage was the same thing as me, didn't he? It's not about making the right choice, it's about doing something. As long as you do something you believe is right, it's the right choice. As long as you don't do anything, it's the easy choice. It's so simple and I thought he meant something way more philosophical all this time! I'm an idiot!"
He laughed to himself, though only for a couple of seconds this time.
"And that makes you an idiot, because you're not him."
The air shivered, and Albus became another tall man, handsome with hair a mix of grey and brownish-black, and dark eyes that narrowed at him.
"You're Voldemort."
A smile played on Harry's lips.
"You messed with the Resurrection Stone too? Incredible. Was this all part of one plan, or do you have dozens of plans going on? Becoming Master of Death, splitting your soul, summoning your soul, I can't even imagine how long it would take to undo it all."
With a flick of his wrist, a wand appeared in Harry's hand.
"Well, I can't imagine how long it would take a normal wizard or witch," he said, rolling the wand between his fingers. "But let's say you accidentally made me the Master of Death, how long do you think it would take me to do it then?"
He smiled.
"You know, I can see the afterlife. It's not heaven and hell, but it's there. Peace, understanding, acceptance. Sounds nice, right? I'm afraid it's not for you though. For you, there is nothing. Your soul will cease to exist. There is no coming back. There is no peace. There is only this moment, and then you will be gone."
He raised the wand, pointing it under Voldemort's chin.
"It will take a long time, but the world will forget you."
A triangle, circle and line, overlapping to form something like a snake's eye, glowed on the wand.
"Goodbye."
"Potter."
A sharp pain cut through the heaviness in his head and muscles.
"Potter!"
Yet, he felt… good.
Cold water sprayed over his face and he spluttered as some shot into his open mouth. When it stopped, he blinked his eyes, only to find a bright light being shone at them. Voices talked around him and spells settled on him, but he just followed the light with his eyes, moving back and forth and up and down until it stopped. After mumbling through some questions, a couple of people helped him up, putting him on a chair. Another person stuck a cold compress on his head, and the pain started to recede.
"Thanks," he said.
The room began to empty out of nameless faces, eventually leaving Shacklebolt, McGonagall and another person from the Ministry.
They heatedly talked amongst themselves, and he looked around the room, checking the portraits of the previous headmasters. Then, he came to Headmaster Dumbledore. The old man in the painting held up a pair of socks he was knitting.
"Well, Mister Potter, we will continue our questioning of you in relation to the murder of Miss Greengrass another day," the Ministry woman said.
"Attempted murder," he replied.
She and McGonagall looked at each other, a mix between worry and confusion, while Shacklebolt stared at him, expressionless.
Harry smiled.
So it ends
The hills rolled on and on, covered in a blanket of grass and weeds and meadow flowers. One small hilltop, in particular, had a cottage. Just big enough to be comfortable, just small enough to be cosy, it looked every bit natural.
A thatched roof sat on top to keep it warm and dry in the winter, and a stream ran a few paces down the hill to keep feet cool in the summer. Shallow and facing the sun, one side of the hill grew an assortment of fruit and vegetables. Inside a little shed tagged onto the cottage, an old barbecue grill sat, well-used.
Laughter could often be heard, and guests would always be popping over. Barely a chilly night passed without the glow of the fireplace leaking through the curtains, and hardly a warm, sunny day passed without a blanket laid out under a nearby tree along with snacks and sporty games.
Perhaps the only part of it Harry disliked was that it only existed in his dreams. The rain pelted him through the bars where the window should be. It would be a long time until he found that peace, but he could wait.