Chapter 2 – The Man Who Lived
Harry was in one of the Ministry of Magic's many conference rooms; it was a wide room of greenish black brick walls, dark wood floor, and wrought iron chandeliers, a choice which cast a cold and grim atmosphere. The tall arched windows displayed a dark blue evening, but it was not the actual sky; it was only an optical illusion, since the Ministry of Magic building was located deep within a mountain, only reachable by Apparition.
Harry sat two seats to the right of the head of the conference table, on which was spread some parchment and quills. Harry looked down at his reflection on the polished wooden surface; at forty-two years old, he looked better than most, but had grown much shabbier over the past thirteen months. His black hair was thick and untidy as it always was, though closer inspection would reveal early grey strands. There were dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep and his green irises looked dull through his round-lensed, dark-rimmed glasses. He was usually clean-shaven, but he had neglected to shave for a while, leaving a faint shadow on his chin and jaw. He felt eternally tired; he would lie his head on the table and sleep for ages, if only the world wouldn't fall apart when he did.
At the head of the table sat the Minister for Magic, Balthazar Cadogan.
He was a man that emitted a fierce, commanding presence, the kind of leader people wanted in a war. His skin was tanned and his face cut with harsh lines; he wore a short boxed beard and moustache, with his dark hair cut short and close on his head. He was built strong and healthy for his age at sixty; as fit as Harry, who was still on active field duty. He was Head of the Auror Office before Harry succeeded him, and he never lost his callous attitude when he became Minister.
"How far did Godric's Hollow move from its original location?" said Cadogan gruffly, leaning forward on the table with his arms crossed.
"The townspeople shifted it forty kilometres northwest, the furthest they could manage," answered Tarquin Keppel, seated two seats down Cadogan's left, opposite Harry. He was the Chief of the Ministry Police Authority, and currently also commander of the Ministry Wizard Militia: a sour-faced bald man with a black goatee and connecting moustache. He had a reputation for being stony and humourless, but to be fair, Harry was becoming more like that himself.
"We're losing town after town. How did they find us this time? Is it those drones with cold iron detectors?" Cadogan angled his head at the four heads of office before him.
Harry already sent his Aurors to conduct an investigation, and their report just flew in to him this evening.
"There was a CIA spy. During the battle at Chudleigh, she used a fake wand to pose as a witch, and got injured while fighting. A militiaman found her and brought her to the Secret-Keeper of Godric's Hollow, who took her to the town healer. She stayed in the village since, likely gathering intelligence, before she started to draw attention for never using magic. She killed the Secret-Keeper and hid the body. Then she borrowed a cloaked owl, claiming to want to contact her family, but it was sent to the U.S. military. The letter passed the police's inspection, but it was in code, revealing the village's location,"
"Even if she was inside the village, how could she tell its geographic location?"
"She took a sextant and an Astronomical Almanac from another local to calculate it,"
"Huh. So Muggles know how to do that, too," Cadogan said begrudgingly.
They know a lot more astronomy than we do, thought Harry. For one, they've actually gone into space.
"Those two men should have tested that she was a witch properly. Why were they allowed to take her straight to the healer? Where were the officers who were supposed to scan them?" Cadogan demanded.
"Officers eventually found her and scanned her. Then she slipped away in the fight between the officers and the man who found her," said Harry.
"Ugh," Cadogan groaned. "Keppel. I want an explanation."
"We could have scanned them right after they left the healer quarters, but we don't have enough militiamen to keep tabs on everyone," said Keppel.
"Then conscript more men," snapped Cadogan. "Our people still think this war will go away if they keep running and hiding long enough,"
"The lack of unity comes from centuries of living in scattered communities," commented the Head of the Office of Intelligence, seated to Cadogan's right, left of Harry. Nowles Lowther was a mousy-looking man, with a small but sharp glare behind his rectangular glasses. He wore his light brown hair side-parted and with a wispy moustache. Before him was a laptop currently in sleep mode. It looked like a modern, high-performance model, but Harry didn't know enough to be sure.
"Well, isn't it grand we're finally fixing that issue?" said Cadogan. He picked up a large brown quill and began scrawling something on a sheet of parchment.
"I'll inform Public Information Services to make an announcement: effective immediately, no witch or wizard is allowed to Apparate directly into the healer quarters. As always, every time anyone leaves or enters a wizard town, a militia officer must record it and scan them with Secrecy Sensors and Probity Probes before they can go, even if they're bleeding out in the queue. Also, it's about time we froze all mail that's not strictly for transmitting intel,"
Now the Head of the Department of Law Enforcement entered the conversation, seated to Cadogan's left. Aminta Fane was a wrinkly, bony old woman with a wiry mess of medium-length grey hair under a pointed witch's hat. She was a consummate bureaucrat, which meant Harry got along with her the least of his colleagues in the room. Technically she held command over Harry's, Lowther's and Keppel's offices, but their offices happened to hold a tradition of being very independent.
"If we were to enact that rule, we might experience some backlash from people who won't take kindly to being unable to contact their families by mail,"
"Morale will plummet even further if wizards continue to shift houses every two weeks," Cadogan rebutted.
"Understood, Minister,"
Cadogan continued his explanation. "We can cloak our owls from photo, thermal and radar, and we can cast enchantments to Vanish any moulting, droppings or carcasses they leave behind. But we can't do anything to stop owls from being intercepted by traps with cold iron detection. We can no longer risk the Muggles using that to identify more town locations,"
"Agreed," chimed Lowther.
"Lowther, have your Spooks acquired any more positions?" Cadogan turned to him.
"No, but the ones we have are still undercover, positioned and waiting for orders,"
Lowther's agents in the British military and government were more dangerous than useful; if they were discovered, it will be so much harder for the Muggles to forgive them.
Harry spoke. "Say you activate them and dominate the Prime Minister and the commanding general. What then? If any leader behaves strangely or makes an illogical decision, the Muggles assume he's been compromised and dismiss him. The Muggles won't accept a ceasefire unless their public calls for it. Unless both the public and the government as a whole believe that truce is a better option,"
Cadogan twirled his quill in his fingers once and threw it back to the table. "Can't disagree with that. But we need to do more to make that happen. Anything else?" He stared pointedly at his war cabinet.
Lowther cleared his throat. "Should we talk to Weasley now?"
"How long have we kept her waiting?"
"Twenty minutes,"
Cadogan waved his hand dismissively. "Turn it on then,"
Lowther woke up his laptop and opened the video chat. A video window popped up and in it were two people Harry had known since he was eleven: Hermione and Ron Weasley. They sat stiffly in their seats some space away from the laptop on their end. Behind them was the sitting room of a luxury hotel suite with cool grey tones.
"Lowther," greeted Hermione curtly.
"Weasley," returned Lowther in kind.
"Harry," said Hermione, as warmly as she greeted Lowther.
"Hermione, Ron," They looked the same since the last time they communicated by video chat. They were dressed in Muggle clothes, Hermione in a cream ruffled blouse and Ron in a blue striped dress shirt. Hermione's hair was brown and rather frizzy; she usually wore it untied, but currently had it in a neat, low hair bun, in order to look presentable to Muggle cameras and officials. Her eyes were brown too and as tired as Harry's.
"Hey, Harry," Ron's short hair was bright red and usually almost as messy as Harry's, but he combed it down to look presentable as well. His blue eyes communicated a mix of sadness and longing. "How are the kids?"
"They're fine, Ron," As fine as they could be, all things considered.
"Tell Rose we said happy birthday, will you? And Lily, too,"
"I will,"
"If you don't mind, Mr. Weasley, this is an official correspondence," Lowther turned the laptop sideways and pushed it before Cadogan.
"Mr. Cadogan," Harry heard Hermione speak.
"Mrs. Weasley. Mr. Weasley. How is London?" said Cadogan with no small helping of sarcasm.
Hermione continued to speak professionally. "I thank you for your concern, Minister. We are fine, but the people of London are scared, as they are everywhere. There's policemen in full tactical gear on every major street. The people you displace from wizard towns live in camps outside the city, with nowhere to go,"
"Any change in terms?" said Cadogan.
There was a bit of latency in the communication, but nothing too jarring. It did, however, lengthen the pause Hermione took before answering. "The…The British government maintains that it will only accept an end to conflict according to the terms of their last Declaration,"
"Which still includes the condition that the Ministry of Magic must order all wizards, including its own employees, to surrender their wands to the British Armed Forces,"
"Yes,"
"Unacceptable. Tell them that we will only negotiate when they accept the right of all lawful wizards to possess wands within the towns and villages that we have declared as the sovereign territory of the Wizard State of the United Kingdom,"
Hermione's politeness started to fade. "Negotiate, Minister? You've been losing negotiating power with the U.K. and U.S. governments with every battle you lose,"
"We lose territory, not battles. Towns are easy enough to take,"
"You lost five wizards yesterday,"
Keppel interjected. "Those were militia deserters. People unhappy with Mr. Potter's no-combat strategy," He shot Harry a stony look.
Keppel would prefer to organize more strikes on military bases, to keep them turtled up instead of expanding. However, they were following Harry's strategy, which meant Cadogan still agreed with Harry, for now.
Harry retorted. "We're avoiding battles that aren't worth the risk. There is little point in attacking them head-on, when they can resupply themselves faster than we can hurt them. And their arms and supplies production are too enormous and widespread for us to put a dent in. They've long learnt how to defend their bases against us – even placed traps designed to counter us. Their alliance with the goblins has also made it harder for us to find where their higher-value assets are,"
"I've warned the Ministry for years to give them more rights and representation –"
Lowther cut in. "Battery life on laptops is limited Mrs. Weasley. Please don't take up our time with another tirade about the goblins,"
Hermione's voice returned snappishly. "So what now, Harry? I see you've turned to attacking other factories –power plants, oil refineries–"
Cadogan graciously turned the laptop around so he and Hermione could argue to each other's faces.
"– just popping in and terrifying innocent civilians. You mind telling me what your men hope to achieve with that?"
Keppel interrupted her. "Mrs. Weasley, it may be Mr. Potter's strategy, but it is my police and militiamen attacking those installations, not his Aurors. We've inflicted minimal civilian harm, targeting only their buildings and machinery,"
Harry met Hermione's gaze with equal anger. "The Muggle people are the key to ending the war. If the war starts hurting their economy, they'll call their government for a truce,"
"That's not the key, Harry. You're just making everyone miserable. The government wants to know that you're not controlling them with Memory Charms or the Imperius Curse,"
"Well, we're not. We only said it a million times,"
Hermione shot the briefest of glances at the other Ministry Heads in the room. "The Prime Minister said on live television he was brainwashed by the Ministry. Before he killed himself,"
"That wasn't us. It was the Knights of Walpurgis,"
"What about the intercepted conspiracy letters?"
They were having the same argument again. Harry was losing his patience. "Don't tell me you believe that stupid accusation. For all we know the Muggles made it up to legitimize the war,"
Hermione shook her head like an exasperated school teacher. "Blind conjecture's not going to get us anywhere,"
Lowther entered his remarks. "Maybe the Muggle governments started the war because they believed we dominated them, but now they continue because their public sees us as an existential threat. We could drag the leader of the Knights before them with a confession and they won't accept it,"
"If you did more to capture the Knights, they wouldn't see us as such a threat," said Hermione.
"I have over halfmy Aurors searching day and night for the Knights," Harry barely restrained himself from shouting. "I go out every day trying to stop them from planting bombs and spewing their vitriol about slaughtering all Muggles. If it weren't for the threat of my Aurors intercepting them, they'd be prancing all over London right now, killing everyone in sight. And what thanks do we get for that? Zero from both sides!"
Hermione winced a little from Harry's outburst. "I-I have been telling the media about what you're doing, but they still can't look past the Ministry's history of memory alteration,"
Fane bristled at Hermione's words. "That's because you've been telling them about it,"
"The governments have known forever about our use of Memory Charms on Muggles," Hermione retorted. "There's no sense in denying it now,"
Fane glowered at Hermione from over her flared nostrils. "Ever since we sent you to London, all you've accomplished is giving the Muggles more and more information about us. You're a traitor to wizardkind. We, who willingly took you in from Muggle society,"
Ron jumped to Hermione's defence. "My wife is not a traitor, Mrs. Fane. She's doing far more work than you are to end this war. Your public addresses are so empty not even Muggle intelligence bothers reading them," Harry thought he saw Fane's wrinkles multiply as she scowled.
Hermione put her hand on Ron's knee to calm him down. "Mrs. Fane, I am first and foremost a witch, and I won't waste my breath trying to prove that to you. What I'm doing is informing the public of who we are, our culture and history. If I don't tell them who we are, they'll never see us as human,"
Harry couldn't help himself from commenting. "It doesn't matter if they see us as human. Muggles have no problem killing humans,"
Hermione's hair seemed to be rising from the heat of her anger. "Oh yeah, Harry? You know what's one thing Muggles don't do? Dominate their prisoners. I don't want wizards to surrender their wands either, but we need start negotiations from somewhere. If we keep proving that we're a threat to them, they're going to call for worse. They're going to lock us in internment camps forever. There are radical groups calling for our extermination!"
Harry's anger was hitting a boil. "If we surrender, they'll exterminate us eventually. There's no way they can contain all of us. Wizards will escape, kill more Muggles, and that will be the end of us,"
Hermione's voice grew shriller with every line. "God. When did you become so – so cynical! Dumbledore taught us –"
"Not this again," spat Harry.
"You're using an attrition strategy against Muggles! They outnumber us by billions, Harry. We cannot win this. How many more wizards have to die before you see that?"
"Every wizard who dies is fighting for the lives of their children!" Harry shouted, his voice reverberating over the large grim room. "Not serving them up on a silver platter!"
Hermione's scream made the laptop's speakers crackle. "That's not what I'm doing! You need to think this through clearly, for everyone's sakes,"
"I am thinking clearly. You're the one who can't see reality,"
"Me? You are routinely blinded by your emotions whenever anything sets you off!"
"You've spent so much time poring over books and office papers, you've lost touch with the truth on the ground. Wizards are too proud to surrender to Muggles. It's truce or death!" Harry slammed his fist on the table, shaking every parchment and quill on it.
"Not everyone is like you, Harry!"
"No, but there are more like me than there are like you!"
Ron put one hand on Hermione's shoulder and held another towards their laptop's screen. His voice was softer than either of theirs, but hung in the air much longer.
"That's enough, both of you," Ron lowered his hands. His voice grew even softer. "We both want the same thing. We have different strategies, but we both want to protect our children. We are both going to do what we can for that. That's what we decided, right?"
Hermione silently took Ron's hand and squeezed it, her head facing down. Harry breathed to cool his pulse. Ron placed his hand over Hermione's and looked to Harry.
"Harry, about –"
Just then, the video froze, then the window closed down with an error message. Lowther pulled the laptop towards him and attempted to remedy the problem.
"What happened?" asked Cadogan, his arms crossed while laying back in his chair.
"Err…we seem to be disconnected…maybe some problem with the router," Lowther mumbled, not entirely confident.
"Can you fix it?" Cadogan asked.
Lowther tried restarting the video chat, then the mobile wireless router connected to the laptop, but to no avail. "Umm…hold on, I'll call someone up," He pulled out a sheet of purple paper and scribbled a single line in it with a steel-coloured quill. He then folded the sheet into a paper plane and threw it towards the door. The large wooden doors creaked a small opening for the plane to fly through and closed behind it.
The conference room fell painfully silent as they waited. Harry kept his eyes fixed to the grain of the table. Cadogan drummed his fingers on it for a minute, then couldn't stand the silence.
"You could stand to improve your speeches, Fane. They are exceptionally uninspiring. Especially next to Talbot's speeches,"
"Y-Yes, Minister. I'll hire a new speechwriter immediately,"
In Harry's opinion, Fane didn't need a new speechwriter; she needed to be useful as something other than a looping portrait telling people that the Ministry is handling the war just fine. For example, she could try to rally their half of parliament and whip them in against Talbot and his hardliners.
"Truth be told, it's not easy to give a more rousing speech than someone who wants to attack the capital like the Russians did," remarked Lowther.
"Hmph," Cadogan scoffed. "If the voters kick me out in favour of Talbot, I'm packing up and joining Weasley," He then shot a crushing glare around the table. "That was a joke, of course,"
The doors opened. Harry turned to see who had entered and felt a terrible twist in his gut.
It was a young boy, either fifteen or sixteen, Chinese. His skin had turned sickly pale from lack of sunlight. His dark hair was straggly, unwashed, and fell past his shoulders; behind the curtain of his hair, his dark eyes were sunken and glazed over. He wore faded grey scrubs – it was the standard attire of prisoners within the Ministry building. It was one size too large for him, an appearance aggravated by his below-average height and weedy frame.
"Ah," Lowther grimaced. "You weren't seen by anyone coming up here, were you?"
The boy shook his head in front of the closed door. "A guard escorted me under a Disillusionment Charm," His voice was a dull monotone. Somewhere underneath it was an American accent.
Lowther beckoned the boy over with his hand. Harry shifted aside so the boy could examine the laptop between him and Lowther. Harry smelled the body odour of someone who did not bathe for days.
Though his fingers were bony, they moved deftly across the keyboard. The monitor churned out windows with lines of text that meant as much to Harry as Ancient Runes.
"It appears to be a compatibility issue with the driver –"
"I don't care what the problem is, just fix it," grumbled Lowther.
Keppel's expression remained inanimate at the boy's presence. Fane was visibly taken aback, while Cadogan knotted his brows sternly.
"This is one of our hackers, yes?" asked Cadogan.
"Yes," answered Lowther. "The most capable of the lot, actually,"
"He's a child," Fane worded breathlessly.
"The others pointed to him as the most skilled in their field," Lowther defended. "You instructed us to capture the best, Mr. Cadogan,"
"Hm. I did," Cadogan muttered. "Make sure he cuts his hair later,"
"Will do, Minister,"
The video chat window popped back up, showing Ron and Hermione looking intently at the screen, presumably attempting to reconnect from their end. When they spotted the boy, Ron reared back and Hermione gasped.
"Is…is that…" Hermione's covered her mouth with her hands. "…That's the hacker boy isn't it?" Her face scrunched up, trying hard to recall something. "What…what is his name again?"
"You don't remember?" a snide smile cracked over Lowther's face. "Weren't you the one who kicked a fuss about sending him back?"
Hermione winced from the sting. Even Ron was too stunned to respond.
"What's his name, then?" asked Harry.
Lowther opened his mouth soundlessly.
"You've had him for nine months," said Harry bitterly.
"Well, you're the one who captured him. Why don't you tell us?" Lowther shot back.
"Enough," Cadogan cut down their exchange. "We've wasted enough time. Mrs. Weasley. Tell me about your meeting today with the U.K. Department of Business, Innovation and Skills," He scanned down at a sheet of parchment to check if he got the name right.
"Wait!" Hermione shouted. "I was just talking about how the Ministry is still dominating their prisoners! Oh God, look at him. This…This is torture!"
Lowther frowned at her accusations. "Oh please – he looks a little unkempt, but he's perfectly healthy. Even when they try to resist eating, we command them to finish their food. See?" He lifted one of the boy's wrists show how much flesh there was. "He's not skeletal,"
"Not skeletal!" Hermione cried. "Is that the Ministry's standard of humane treatment?"
"Compared to the cramped, unsanitary internment camps the Muggles have our people in, these prisoners are practically our guests," said Lowther.
"Harry!" Hermione's voice shook. "How can you allow this?"
Harry wanted to say that it wasn't his decision, but he couldn't take such an easy answer. "We need hackers to identify target locations and to intercept Muggle communications," He said, his voice flat.
Keppel cleared his throat and spoke in a cold, impersonal tone. "We were keeping to this standard of treatment long before you left, Mrs. Weasley. You just never bothered to visit the dungeons," Harry saw Hermione wince again. "Have you forgotten that we're at war? Has that cosy London suite dulled your senses?" Ron bowed his head as well.
"If we may get back on track," declared Cadogan. "Mrs. Weasley. About your meeting today," Lowther took the laptop and turned it around to face Cadogan again.
"Oh, yes," Hermione muttered. "I proposed some trade and labour agreements we could make if they allow us to possess wands in our own territory. They didn't accept, but they were interested in the prospects. I will send you the documents and a transcript of our discussion,"
Hermione uploaded a few files and the boy sent those files to be printed from a printer in another room.
Fane shuddered. "So you want us to be enslaved by Muggles? Like, like workshop elves?"
"Why don't you read the documents first before making a comment?" Harry muttered darkly.
Cadogan made a few scribbles on his sheet of parchment. "I think that will be enough for now. I have other matters to attend to. When I'm done reading your files, I will contact you again. We will also discuss the content of your interviews with the Muggle media,"
"Yes, Minister,"
Cadogan began collecting his papers. "Keep in mind that you were dismissed from your position ever since you started supporting our surrender. Any deals you discuss with the Muggles is purely hypothetical. That said…keep doing whatever you can,"
"Understood. Goodnight, Mr. Cadogan,"
Cadogan closed the laptop and pushed it back to Lowther. "Muggle intelligence didn't hear that conversation, did they?"
Lowther turned to the boy. "Answer the question. In simple terms,"
"The communications are encrypted. It is very unlikely,"
"Good," Cadogan stood up and promptly strode out of the room. "Good night, everyone,"
It was half past eleven by the time Harry was able to return home. Standing in his office, he raised his wand and brought the image of his home to his mind. A two-storey red wooden cottage, surrounded by wood on the outskirts of Hogsmeade Village. He pushed off with his left foot, and spun on his right. His sight went black, and his body experienced a sensation like being forced through a tiny pipe bending and twisting in a dozen different directions.
The next moment, his feet landed on a stepping stone pathway, and he was standing in the front garden of his home. Glowing flowers of different colours adorned their lawn like festive lights, the midnight air was fresh and cool in Harry's lungs, and there was only the peaceful noise of chirping crickets. Every time Harry returned home from work, the beauty and peacefulness of his house was jarring, like an alien world to him. Every day, he felt more and more reluctant to return to it, as if one day he might bring back too much of the other world into this one, polluting it.
Harry stepped through the front porch, opened the front door and entered the sitting room. It was a room of dark reds and browns, almost royal in feeling, from the walls to the furniture. He used to think it was cosy and warming; now the heavy red tones were overwhelming, and reminded Harry of less comfortable things.
His wife Ginny was sleeping in a plush red couch by the fireplace. Held gently in her fingers was their family photo album, opened to the same page as always. As Harry closed the front door, the sound stirred her awake. She closed the book, set it on the coffee table, and turned to face him.
"Harry. How was your day?"
"Fine," Harry muttered automatically. "Sorry I'm late," Outside, he saw that the upper storey lights were off, and he currently didn't hear any other activity in the house. "Are the kids asleep?"
"Yes. We saved some cake for you in the fridge. Hugo says it's best eaten by tomorrow afternoon while the Leavening Charm is still active,"
Hugo always baked a cake for every birthday in his and Harry's family; he was by far the best chef in the household. Harry very much wanted to just take a shower and drop unconscious in his bed, but instead he placed his messenger bag on the coffee table and sat down on the couch next to Ginny.
Since Rose was asleep, Harry would have to wait until tomorrow wish her happy birthday for Ron and Hermione.
"That's nice of him. How was Rose's birthday?" Harry asked, staring into the burning fireplace, which was tall enough for a man to stand in. It reminded him of the Fiendfyre that killed Vincent Crabbe long ago at Hogwarts. It never used to remind him of anything, but lately everything reminded Harry of the past. He tried to find answers and solace in his past experiences, but found little of that compared to mistakes and regret.
"Hmm, uneventful. Everyone just ate dinner and went back to their rooms," said Ginny.
They sat silently for a while, calmly watching the fire. Then Ginny spoke again. "Today can't have been 'fine'. Godric's Hollow was taken,"
Harry didn't want to burden Ginny with his problems, but telling her nothing only made her upset. He tried to say things as matter-of-factly as possible.
"Yes. Godric's Hollow was a historic village. Talbot will probably use it in his next statement, demand that we take it back,"
"Talbot. I wish we could just, not report anything he does,"
She probably wanted him to talk about his feelings – how his parents' home was levelled and their cemetery blasted to craters, but Harry honestly didn't have much to say about that. Compared to everything else this war has taken from him, that was nothing. He searched for something else to talk about.
"I talked with Hermione and Ron today," he blurted out.
"Really?" Ginny sat up. "How are they doing?"
"They're okay. Still in London. They met with the British government today, trying to negotiate for peace with a trade deal,"
"Are they being treated alright?"
"Yeah, as far as we can tell," Harry didn't want to admit he got in a row with Hermione again.
"Did you have a fight with Hermione?"
Harry sighed. Was Ginny too perceptive, or was he just too easy to read? "…Yes. Mostly the same stuff as last time,"
Ginny shook her head. "That Hermione…she always brings up the same issues again and again,"
Ginny was just trying to make him feel better, which Harry appreciated, despite not quite agreeing with her assessment. Ginny and Hermione were best friends; they should still be best friends, just as Harry still considered Ron and Hermione his best friends. There were few people in the world he could call 'friend'. People who truly knew him as Harry Potter, and not 'Head of the Auror Office', 'The Man Who Lived' or 'Master of Death'.
Hermione's arguments rolled around in his head again, like a bowling ball bouncing off the inside of his skull. "Ginny…Am I doing the right thing?"
"What? Of course you are," She didn't even ask what he was right about.
In all the years that Harry had known Hermione, in all the incidents they've been through, she had never, ever been wrong about anything. She was the smartest woman he knew, called the brightest witch of her age, and yet now of all times Harry refused to listen to her. He wanted very much to believe her, to believe that the Muggles would not subjugate them too harshly, that wizards would be able to adapt to life without wands…but he couldn't. He just couldn't see it.
When the fire didn't remind him of the Fiendfyre, it reminded him of something worse. In a soft voice, Harry revealed his deepest, most terrible fear.
"What if…what if the prophecy is my fault? What if I'm the one fulfilling the prophecy? The prophecy only exists because I –"
Ginny took Harry's shoulders and turned him to face her. Her long straight hair was light red and glowed with light from the fireplace; she had aged much better than Harry in his opinion, still as beautiful as on the day he married her. Her bright brown eyes burned fiercely with resolve.
"The prophecy started before you even heard it. Albus…wasn't your fault,"
"But James and Lily and you…"
"That won't happen. If it comes to it, you and I will be the ones…but not every prophecy comes true. We can beat this. You've beaten the odds before,"
Harry averted his eyes from Ginny's, unable to face her undeserved faith in him.
"This is nothing like before. Before was…simple compared to this,"
Ginny was silent for a while, her hands still resting on his shoulders. Then she stood up and kissed him on the forehead.
"It's been a long day for you. I'll prepare the bath for you – I'll let you know when it's ready,"
"I don't need a bath,"
"Just take the bath,"
"Okay,"
She moved around the couch and climbed up the sitting room stairs to the upstairs bathroom. Harry's body was aching and he probably needed the bath's soothing potions, but now he was forced to stay awake rather than drown himself in sleep – forced to stay with his own thoughts.
Fifty-one years ago, a powerful dark wizard known to the world as Lord Voldemort led his followers in the First Wizarding War of Great Britain, aiming to rule both the Muggle and wizarding world. On October 31st, 1981, Voldemort killed Harry's parents and tried to kill him when he was a one-year old boy. He did it to undermine a prophecy which foretold that Harry was the only person capable of defeating him. However, Harry was protected by an ancient magic that was activated by his mother's sacrifice; Voldemort's Killing Curse rebounded and he was reduced to a feeble spectre. He fled into hiding and the wizarding world celebrated the end of his reign of terror, believing him dead.
Fourteen years later, Lord Voldemort returned, determined again to kill Harry and rule the world. And so began the Second Wizarding War of Great Britain. In the early hours of May 2nd, 1998, Harry slayed Voldemort for good, but only after destroying the dark magic artefacts that kept him immortal by binding his soul to the earth. Harry would not have gotten anywhere in destroying those artefacts if it weren't for the help and sacrifice of many friends and guardians.
Both times, Harry took most of the credit for Voldemort's defeat. In neither case did he deserve it. Harry's search for Voldemort's Horcruxes was desperate, arduous, seemingly hopeless at many points, but his seventeen-year old self never wavered so much as his forty-two-year old self did now.
Back then, his goal was straightforward, his decisions easy to make. Even when he used the Imperius Curse to retrieve the Horcruxes, he knew without a doubt that it was for the greater good, that it would never backfire on him. Harry's world was simpler then; it was a world where moral choices existed. That was because his sight was narrower then, and it was his friends and guardians who made all the hard choices.
This was the first war to truly test who Harry was, and Harry found that he was no hero. Albus Severus Potter, his second son, died when British forces struck Diagon Alley, the central business district of wizarding Britain. They were so confident in their concealment and warning magic, but the goblins revealed their change of alliance by leading the military into Diagon Alley through a secret passage within Gringotts Bank. Harry found Albus outside Ron and George's joke store, hit by crossfire from both rifle and wand.
No death hurt Harry as much as Albus's. He was his son – he was supposed to protect him. He wanted more than anything just to hear him again. So he went to the Forbidden Forest in search of the Resurrection Stone. Just to see him once more, he told himself, just to say goodbye, and sorry. It was there that Harry learned that there was no bottom to the pit called despair.
The Resurrection Stone was one of three ancient magical objects called the Deathly Hallows which, according to legend, were created by Death himself, though they were more likely created by powerful wizards of the past. The Stone possessed the ability to summon the deceased loved ones of the holder, but only an incorporeal shade, a solid-colour ghost.
Twenty-three years ago, Lord Voldemort delivered an ultimatum to Harry's friends and allies: either they would bring him Harry Potter, or die. Harry entered the Forbidden Forest where Voldemort waited, and willingly gave his life. Before he did so, he used the Stone to bring back the shades of his parents and his closest guardians. They gave him the courage to face his death. He then dropped the Stone in the Forest before meeting Voldemort, intending for it to be lost forever.
Harry had brought six different magical detectors with him into the Forest, but in the end he didn't need any of them, because the Stone had not shifted an inch from the spot he left it all those years ago.
Even in daylight, the Forbidden Forest was shrouded, blanketed by the shifting shadows of its canopy. Dark tree trunks stood densely near and far, like monumental pillars holding up the sky of dappled light and dark. Just a few yards away was where he had died once. Harry knelt down and dug at the forest floor, sweeping aside the layer of decomposing leaves, digging his fingers into the soft black soil.
His heart jumped when his fingers contacted the Stone. It was a tiny stone no larger than a grape, cut in a regular octahedron. It resembled polished iron ore with its dark-grey sheen, but sat eerily weightless in his palm, even for its size. Sitting within the Stone was a symbol: a regular triangle, housing a circle that just touched its sides, and a vertical line bisecting both.
Harry focused on the image of his son, and turned the Stone over three times in his hand. Harry waited with bated breath, listening for his kind humble voice, scanning the trees for his slight frame and the black mop-top hair that Ginny cut herself. But seconds passed, then a minute. Harry turned over the Stone three times again – that was supposed to activate it. He tried everything: he squeezed it, rubbed it, even kissed it, but nothing worked. His momentary excitement turned into anxiety.
Harry heard the soft snapping of dried leaves being stepped on. Harry looked up and saw the centaur Firenze approaching him.
"Harry Potter," His voice was a low dignified rumble. "It has been many years since our last meeting,"
The Forest was home to many magical creatures, not least of which included a colony of centaurs. A centaur was a towering creature; Firenze gazed down at Harry from over nine feet high. His human half was proportional in bulk to his horse half – his upper torso was easily thrice the size of Harry's. His coat was an earthy dark brown like the soil at his hooves, his hair marginally thinner on his upper half. His noble face possessed equine features; slightly elongated, with a flat nose and high-set pointed ears; his dark beard and head hair was a short tangled bush. He appeared to have not aged in the slightest since the twenty-three years Harry last saw him.
"Firenze," Harry was on decent terms in the centaurs of the Forest; as decent as a human could be, given that centaurs kept almost entirely to their own kind.
"I sense a great sadness in you," The centaur regarded him with his stark blue eyes. "You have suffered a loss,"
"My son," Harry murmured, standing up.
"My condolences. May his soul journey safely across the plains of the Aether,"
"He was only fifteen. He deserved longer,"
"Death takes with no regard to mortal concerns of fairness. His reasons are beyond our ken,"
Albus was the most thoughtful of his children. He never wished anyone ill in his life. Whatever reason Albus died for, it wasn't good enough.
Firenze studied Harry more carefully, and his enormous visage grew uneasy.
"The threads of Fate coil around you. More than ever before," He retreated a step back on each hoof. "Remain here, Harry Potter. I will return shortly," And he galloped away. Harry lost sight of him in seconds behind the forest shrubbery.
Firenze returned two minutes later, and in his arms he carried enough dried wood to start a large fire. In one hand he grasped an assortment of herbs and branches. He dropped the dried wood to the ground before Harry and handed him the herbs and branches.
"Take these, Harry Potter, and burn them,"
Harry took out his personal wand and pointed to the firewood. "Incendio," They instantly ignited with crackling flames. A terrible trepidation loomed in Harry's chest; like most wizards, he never put much stock in divination magic for its vague and inaccurate reputation, but centaurs were known as very accurate diviners. Harry fed the herbs and branches to the fire in the order he was once taught in Divination class by Firenze himself.
Firenze scrutinized the dancing of the flames and smoke. They revealed to him secrets that Harry could not see. "Your journey has been fraught with great trial, Harry Potter. But for those who challenge the darkness, there can be no peace," Suddenly, Firenze drew a sharp intake of breath and froze still; his stark blue eyes became glazed and unfocused, no longer paying the flames any mind. His voice turned grave and ominous.
"Deaths of your family mark the course of war in this land between magical and non-magical man. One death near the beginning, one death near the crest, and one death near the end. Flee, and you will be caught. Cheat, and you will be robbed. Fight, and you will be broken. Death will not be evaded, deceived, or beaten,"
The centaur blinked and his body unfroze, but it was now Harry who fell still. He did not want to understand it, but he heard 'death' several times, and the word echoed a thousand times more in his ears. The Forest tipped and spun and lost all its air. His mind could no longer register what the orange moving shape in front of him was.
Firenze raised his palm to his face, as if to steady a dizzy spell.
"This is strange. Why do the heavens detail events so minor? The fate of many must rest on this vision,"
Only a few of Firenze's words entered Harry's ears. "Minor? Minor?" He meant to shout louder, but his voice was hoarse. "What…what was that?" He asked in some stupid hope that he could be wrong.
"That was…a prophecy granted from the heavens," The centaur gazed at him with awful sympathy. "I am sorry,"
Harry did not know how long he stood until he was able to speak. "I…I can't...I can't let that happen…Firenze…how do I stop it?" Harry beseeched him.
Firenze's blue eyes were not light, but a dark blue like the night sky. They stared at Harry with a deep yet distant sadness.
"Fate does not share most of her machinations, but what she does share is immutable. The course of the heavens cannot be swayed by mortal will. Death, in particular, does not announce himself lightly,"
"Then…what am I supposed to do?" Harry cried desperately.
Firenze turned around and started to walk away. He turned his head around for one last word. "The only advice I can give you, Harry Potter, is to prepare yourself. We cannot change the course of the heavens; we can only change the way we face them,"
And so Firenze trotted away, leaving Harry with the burning fire and a feeling worse than anything he had felt in his life.
After the Forest, Harry took the Resurrection Stone to the Unspeakables: the magic researchers of the Ministry of Magic. Their tests upon the Stone revealed that it was out of mana: mana was the basis of all magic, an energy that could be shaped by the will into any form of matter or energy, including unnatural forms that defied the laws of physics.
When Harry last used the Resurrection Stone, he had consumed all the mana stored within it. Usually, magical artefacts will replenish their store of mana over time, but the chaotic magical ambience of the Forbidden Forest prevented it for all the years it remained there. According to the Unspeakables' examination, the Stone required an astronomical amount of mana to activate its primary enchantment; it would be prohibitively costly to recharge the Stone with the means the Ministry had available, and it would take centuries for the Stone to recharge on its own.
"Harry," Ginny descended halfway down the stairs and called to him. "The bath's ready. Come straight to bed when you're done. No working,"
"Thanks," Harry replied. Ginny went back up the stairs, presumably heading to their bedroom. Harry got up from the sofa and slowly made his way to his and Ginny's bathroom on the right end of the upper floor. With every creaking step up the stairs, Harry felt older and heavier; his grey Auror robes seemed a palpable load on his weary shoulders.
Harry told only Ginny, Ron and Hermione about the prophecy. After their initial shock, they became far more confident than him that they would be able to break the prophecy. Their confidence was probably just the strong front they wore for his sake. Ginny said that not all prophecies came true…but this was a prophecy made by a centaur in Trance, and according to every divination expert Harry spoke to in the Department of Mysteries, those always came true.
Desperate, Harry retrieved the Elder Wand, hoping that its power would help him end the war quickly. During the Second Wizarding War, Voldemort stole the Wand from the tomb of Harry's closest mentor, Albus Dumbledore. After Harry defeated Voldemort, he resolved to return the Wand to Dumbledore and leave its power to fade away. When Harry found himself desecrating Dumbledore's tomb just as Voldemort did before, it was then that Harry truly vanquished all lingering notions that he was special, that he was ever a better man than anyone he knew.
He only wanted the Resurrection Stone to see his son again, and only wanted the Elder Wand to protect his family. He had always kept the Invisibility Cloak he inherited from his father. He did not expect that the three Deathly Hallows together would make him un-killable. The wizarding world's hopes rose high at this discovery. They praised him as their saviour, the one who would bring the Muggles to heel. But they and Harry quickly learnt that even the Elder Wand's power and infinite regeneration from death were no match for the sheer size and might of the Muggle forces.
Harry entered the rather spacious bathroom. Their bathtub was filled with warm water topped with a layer of frothy violet bubbles. Harry ignored it for the moment and turned to the bathroom mirror to shave off his stubble. In that mirror he saw no Master of Death – just a weak, ragged man.
Without Ron and Hermione, he felt broken, cut in half. The other half of him was only held together by Ginny and his children. He had betrayed Dumbledore's expectations, and betrayed his seventeen-year old self, who turned down the power of the Hallows. And if he didn't somehow turn this war around, soon he will betray all those who placed their faith in him.
Harry reached up and touched the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his right temple, usually hidden from view by his fringe; he traced his finger over the three straight lines – thin, red, and just slightly protruding. It was a scar left on him by Voldemort on his first attempt on Harry's life. When he did so, he unwittingly embedded a piece of his soul into Harry. That fragment of soul was now gone, but never had Harry ever felt closer to Voldemort than he did now. To be so powerful, yet so weak. To sink deeper and deeper into darkness trying to achieve your ends, only to constantly fear whether you weren't going far enough, or on the wrong path entirely. Yes, even Voldemort had his doubts; others saw him as a dark god, but he was only a man, just like Harry. Harry saw it in his eyes, in his heaving breath, when he gave Voldemort one last chance to redeem himself.
In the end, Voldemort believed it was too late for him – he fought one final battle, and Harry slew him. Harry only hoped it was not too late for himself, before he became the vanquished foe of another hero.
