Just Empty Desks and Broken Dreams
Rated: PG-13
Summary:
Four years after the defeat of Voldemort, the former Hogwarts students gather in a memorial for their friends and family.Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all its corresponding characters and elements belong to JK Rowling. This story belongs to me.Warning:
Some mild slash.A/N:
The rewrite of my previous fic. This one is longer, has more character development on the part of Harry, and is more of a satisfying read. Please review even if you did before. Thankies!***
The autumn breeze carried leaves and cotton through the air on the bitter September evening. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, approached the edge of the lake quietly and slowly. He knew that he would be one of the last to arrive at Hogwarts for the reunion and memorial service, but he didn't care. The lake was nearly the edge of the Hogwarts grounds, and it was the first place that Harry visited. He wasn't ready to face his classmates yet, wasn't ready to face the school where he had spent the best years of his life, and he wasn't ready to face the souls of the dead that dwelt in his memories there.
Harry made his way along the edge of the lake, his broom clutched tightly in his right hand, his wand in his pocket. It was quiet outside Hogwarts, the wind made no sound as it cut across the tops of trees and the glassy surface of the lake. The giant squid lay dormant that autumn evening, as if it could feel the sadness in the air, and the regret. Harry ignored the biting wind, and pulled his old Gryffindor scarf around his neck, one of the only mementos of his life at the school--before the war. As he approached the front passage into Hogwarts, he caught a glimpse of the Quidditch field. The Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Slytherin flags were at half-mast, as they had been since the war nearly four years ago. Harry shook his head, the students coming into Hogwarts after the war would know nothing of the school before the war. It would never be the same again, the corridors would be filled with the laughter and speech of those passed on, and not a soul in the Wizarding World could hide from them.
The doors creaked as they admitted Harry into the school. His entrance went unnoticed, most were too swept up in their own memories to pay him any heed, and he slipped into one of the empty classrooms. He turned around and almost wished he hadn't. The late Professor Lupin's face stared back at him from a portrait that was sitting on the desk of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The wind ruffled his not yet gray hair and he blinked, looking around the classroom in satisfaction. Other pieces of memorabilia of the professor lay on the desk, including his wand, a photo album and a few books. Harry sighed and picked up the album almost against his will and opened it to the first page. His body found a seat at one of the empty desks in the front row and he sat. The album went in chronological order, Harry saw pictures of Lupin as a baby, as a two year old, as a three year old and so on. The book skipped his 6th year, the year that a bite from a werewolf changed his life. Inside the book was pasted Remus' Hogwarts acceptance letter, several letters from his first year at Hogwarts, and his Ministry papers. Harry almost wept when he reached the section that was of his parent's wedding. There were even random pictures of him as a baby stuck here and there. The pictures randomly cut off. The fidilus week had cut off Remus' memorabilia, and a gap was left. It skipped years ahead, and there were pictures scattered through time. Remus had even paid memoriam to Cedric Diggory. Harry put the book back and shook his head, glancing once more at the picture of his late professor. He left, the door creaked closed on its own.
The hallways were empty and quiet, the only sounds were Harry's own memories that existed only in his mind. He passed the Great Hall and caught sight of several of his former classmates. A shock of red hair reminded Harry of the Weasleys. He hadn't spoken to Ron or his family since the memorial service for George and Charlie, who had both been killed in the war. The last he'd heard, Ginny and Fred were in counseling, and Mrs. Weasley was in deep depression. He had avoided them like the plague for years, carefully avoiding Arthur while at work at the Ministry. He ignored them now and headed towards the Potions classroom, which he knew would also be empty. Professor Snape had long since gone from Hogwarts. Harry knew that Snape had known all along that Voldemort would kill him one day, it was just a matter of time. That time came at the end of Harry's 7th year, and they still had not found a replacement for him.
There were no photo albums in the Potions classroom. There was only a scowling picture of Professor Snape and a thick book titled 'Student Log'. Harry opened it after checking the classroom for signs of other people. It appeared to be a complete catalogue of every student that Snape had ever taught. Harry quickly searched for his name, in the meantime reading excerpts from other familiar student's entries.
Granger, Hermione C.
Enormous potential. Extremely annoying know-it-all, possible help case. Ar: Potter, H; Weasley, R.
Harry hardly understood Snape's shorthand, and was about to flip to his own entry when another name caught his eye.
Malfoy, Draco L.
D. Malfoy, Lucius W.
Snape was obviously not biased in his notes, but Harry doubted that he had intended them to be shared with anyone. Harry shook his head, wondering what he would find under his own name.
Potter, Harry J.
D. Potter, James H.
Harry snorted. The book had lightened his mood, early signs of egoistic tendency, he chuckled to himself. Snape did have a sense of humor, even if he hadn't been aware of it. Harry looked around the classroom. It was gathering dust, the jars had not been touched for years, and the tables sat in precisely the same places they had in Harry's 7th year. Harry glanced to where he and Malfoy had sat during their last month in Potions. The war had not been at a peak yet, and they were still allowed to attend classes. Many seats were empty by then, most from Slytherin; many students had gone to join their fathers on Voldemort's side. Malfoy had stayed…Harry remembered the incident like he remembered his first day at Hogwarts. It was like a ray of hope. Everyone had been surprised when Draco Malfoy's loud voice had protested loudly to his father in the Main Hall during Christmas Affairs. No, he would not take the Dark Mark, thank you very much. No, he would not join Voldemort, dammit, sod off. Lucius had left, and a week later war had been declared. Harry knew why Draco had renounced the Dark Mark and his father, and it hadn't been for him. It had been for her all along. He remembered the incident with bitterness now.
Harry left the Potions classroom, shaking his head of the memories. He passed the Main Hall again, quicker this time, he caught a flash of red, and then a flash of silver blond in the corner of his eye, but he didn't stop until he safely reached the Transfiguration classroom. The door shut quietly behind him. There was no picture here for Minerva McGonagall, but she no longer resided in the school. Harry ran a hand across the black board at the front of the classroom, the chalk dust particles left white residue on his fingertips, and he turned around quickly to look at the empty desk of Professor McGonagall. McGonagall, like Snape, had long since left Hogwarts. When interviewed by the Daily Prophet, she was quoted saying that she could no longer bear to stay in a place where so many had perished and so many souls still resided. Many thought that she had gone to work at the Ministry, she had been offered a job there, but she had not. Harry didn't know where she was, but he believed that she was no longer in London.
The door behind Harry creaked open, he ignored it and kept his back to the door. The footfalls of the person behind him were even and light, and Harry lowered his head slightly.
"Malfoy," He said, without looking up. Only one person could open a door so sullenly, walk across a room with so much grace.
"Potter." Malfoy said quietly, Harry turned around and looked at him. He looked the same way he had looked four years ago when he was still a student of Hogwarts. No, something was missing, or just replaced. Draco no longer held himself so tall. None of them did, though on Draco it was a shame, in his Hogwarts years he could light up a room. Now he just added to the dimness of every one he entered.
"How's the job?" Harry asked quietly. Draco frowned deeply.
"Stop beating around the bush, Potter. We haven't talked in three years and you ask me how the job is?"
"I was trying to make conversation."
"How's this for conversation? I didn't want to talk to you, but I was talking to Finnigan earlier, and he said that there was something you had to tell me. Is it about--"
"Yes," Harry cut him off. It was about her. If there had been any other answer, Malfoy would have turned on his heel and left.
"Well, out with it." Draco's voice sounded defeated. Harry's mind flashed back to the terrible memory. This very room, the door in shambles…last revolt of Death Eaters…Muggle-born Witch killed in raid…no other casualties…"I know you were the last one she talked to, tell me what she said--she must've said something about me--"
"She did, Malfoy, I'm getting to it." Harry was busy in his own memory. Glass on the floor, a broken body in his arms, a strong voice 'Don't let them brake you, Harry Potter, don't you let them do it. You tell Ron for me, you tell him that he is to lead a good life, and help his family through the tough times ahead. Tell Ginny the same, and tell Neville not to be too timid to take a position that he will enjoy all his life. Tell Draco that I know why I said 'yes', and I would have married him. This isn't just some excuse to get out of it,' She had laughed then, blood was on Harry's hands, 'Always believe in the power of your dreams, Harry. I know what you wanted, I know your heart. And if you can make him happy, then you do it, dammit. Harry, you do it. Always believe in the power of your dreams.' Death had come then, and the Boy Who Lived was left with blood on his hands and regret in his heart. "She told me to tell you that she would've married you, and that dying wasn't just a way to get out of it."
"Typical Gryffindor behavior." Draco laughed bitterly. "Until we meet again, Potter."
"Wait," Harry said, and then bit his lip. He had almost reached out to Draco, touched him in the way that he had wanted to since his fifth year in school. He restrained himself.
"What?"
"Do you blame me?" It wasn't what he had intended to come out of his mouth, he had intended the truth to come out, all of it. But it didn't, and again he was left with the bitter pains of regret in his mouth.
"Yes." The word was cold against the empty classroom.
"She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, no one could have changed that,"
"No, Potter, they had her targeted. It wasn't just a coincidence. But it never would have happened if you had just killed Voldemort and gotten it done, but you didn't. She had to do it, she had to do your dirty work, and she paid for it."
"What? Why do you blame me?" Savior of the Wizarding World…killed…Harry Potter's arms…Draco Malfoy, no statement…
"Because, Potter." Draco spat, his eyes clouding over with what, tears? Harry had never seen tears shine so brightly. "Because that's what you were here for, to kill Voldemort, and you failed. You failed, and she had to pay." He turned away quickly, but turned back and slapped down a book on the desk in front of him. Harry hadn't even noticed he was carrying one. "Have a nice life, Potter." Draco said, and closed the door behind him. Not loud, not soft, just closed. Harry looked down at the desk, at the book on the desk. In Memoriam: 17 Years of Hermione Granger.
The dream of being free of his guilt would never leave him.
No matter how small, it's still a dream worth keeping. --Hermione Granger
[End Fic]