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Chapter Two: Remembering the Room of Requirement
He walked slowly up the corridor; he was nearly afraid of what he'd see when he arrived. He'd been told that it was all right, that the damage had been more or less repaired. Nor did it matter much to anyone else if the damage hadn't been, since after all, it was over, all over. Yet he did not wish for the meaning of this room to vanish and felt the desire to restore it to its glory after what had happened. He had to see it himself.
"Just do it," he encouraged himself.
He walked past the wall three times but had to try again because he wasn't initially sure which form of the room he wanted to see. But when his mind was made he passed by thrice in thought and the door, just as it always had, large and grand with splendor, appeared before him. His heart warmed with the memory of escape, comfort, and retaliation that the room had so often inspired in him; in so many others.
McGonagall and Flitwick had vanquished the fiery curse just after the Battle of Hogwarts had ended, after bodies were moved and secondary issues such as this could be attended to; after Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord, finally after all these years. Many had said that there were other things more important to take care of than the beastly flames that scoured the tapestries and wallpaper of the room in the corridor on seventh floor but both of the professors had insisted and naturally Harry would not have argued.
The room held so much emotion, so much determination. So much had taken place in this room that Harry would not know how he would bear it if the flames had truly engulfed the room, making it un-enterable. But McGonagall and Flitwick had told him it was all right. They'd said they'd put out the fire. He shuddered at the memory of the beasts chasing after them as he'd dived down to save his long time school enemy, as he curved to attain the dusty old crown that would moments later crack in half with a half-heart whimper of defeat.
It was the place where hopes of supporting Dumbledore had been firmly established, where Harry Potter had taught his peers the most he knew about defending themselves from Dark magic. It was where he'd taught Hermione and Ginny and Ron and Neville and the others how to produce Patronuses. And taught that gitty little Hufflepuff about his ever so famous Disarming Charm. A place of refuge for those who stood against the persecutions of Dolores Umbridge, who stood by Harry…Voldemort, had returned. Harry had had his first kiss with Cho Chang under Dobby's mistletoe that one Christmas… What an odd evening it had been, her crying all over him. He chuckled at the thought of Cho's enthusiasm to show him Ravenclaw Tower only a few evenings ago. Ginny had not even let her have a chance. He had been a boy then, anyhow.
He'd hidden his Potion's book in the very cabinet that would lead to cause Dumbledore's downfall, a fall down from Astronomy Tower, after cursing the boy who would later be the one to fix and use the cabinet to get Death Eaters into the school. It was Snape's book, his created curse; Snape would kill Dumbledore…after being asked to do so by the wretched brilliant old man himself. He shook his head still half in disbelief. How could he feel so familiar to a man who had loathed him, who he'd loathed in return for years? Who his mother had befriended even against the grain of a Gryffindor…even he had not been gallant enough to consider a Slytherin benevolent…not after all he'd been through.
Again he shook the tormenting thoughts from his head. The room. The door was still there and he was still lamely standing before it, thoughts jumbled.
The Room of Requirement had served at last as a liaison between Hogwarts and the outside world, as a safe house for the prosecuted. It symbolized to Harry Potter the viability of diversity and of acceptance. And because it was still effective, the immortality of values, victory of good.
Not even Dumbledore's office held as much meaning; it held just the presence and spirit of the old wizard, not the mass moving desire to fight for the rights of friends and those who couldn't fight for themselves. It was tainted, nearly tainted by the late Severus Snape, who Harry had no words that would seem reasonable to any listening stranger to explain how he felt of the man. He would though, ensure the man's portrait hung proudly in that office.
Pride lined the crevices of the old door as he stepped through, holding his breath. He nearly retched stepping in, amazed at what he saw, making him gasp more air then his lungs had the capacity to hold, air that was polluted with smoke and ash. The Room of Hidden things was charred and empty, but for a few piles of dusty ash blanketing the ground. The walls, the floor, the ceiling was all black, as if it had been painted or charmed as such. The bust of the old warlock was gone. Books, swords and axes, stolen goods, misshapen magical items, the enormous troll…gone as though shoved into limbo between the Vanishing Cabinets but those were gone too. All in the ashes that his feet trod upon. Crabbe's ashes were within them. Git.
Harry walked across the room silently and leaned his back against the opposite wall. It was empty. It was hard for Harry to wrap his head around, though he'd accepted it the moment they'd flown coughing and gasping for fresh air from the door. He slumped down to the floor and with his elbows resting on his knees he held his head with his hands. There were streaks on the wall where his back had slid and wiped at the ash.
He was disappointed. But it wasn't the end of the world.
He chuckled to himself. Few knew only how great the possibility of that had been. But it was over.
"Hey mate. It's all really gone, huh?"
Neville Longbottom walked easily toward him. He sat down beside him, making a similar streak along the wall with his back. Harry had come to realize the bravado that Neville had finally shown after all the years of childish diffidence. He praised Neville for his bravery. Nagini's head had leapt from her body so swiftly, Harry had almost missed it. But he would never forget the image of the trail of black blood from the neck of the snake splatter against the flaming Sorting Hat to relinquish the tiding flickers of heat that had burnt Neville's face and neck. His face was still harshly scarred from the burns.
"It's gone."
"It was home to me for a long time. I hadn't had that for a while, my parents being gone and all. I had Gran but it wasn't the same I guess." Neville sighed. "You know," he added, seeming to just remember that Harry too hadn't any parents to grow up with either.
He was instantly reminded that this was the last place Harry had seen Tonks. Teddy would be just like the both of them, him and Neville, living the rest of his life without parents, parents who had given themselves up for the greater good. He'd make sure Teddy grew up knowing his parents as heroes.
"You know, I always had this feeling you were something greater than me. But I knew that I was supposed to be important somehow. I never really believed it until I understood how you influenced people. When you show people you won't give up, you inspire them. When you left, I tried it. I tried to influence people. Being a leader of the revolution…it felt like…like I should've been there as a stand in for you. Being in this room, teaching and caring for all these fighters, it was like I was almost supposed to be there myself. I don't know…"
Every irony was funny to Harry these days and so when he laughed quite wildly out loud Neville stared at him as though he'd lost his mind, as if after all this it would be a surprise anyway.
"Well Neville…you actually almost were."
Some of you might have read this chapter with a little extra tacked on to the end. It wasn't meant to be there! So just pretend it didn't happen, which is okay, because it won't happen. I've updated it so now it's correct. And if you've just read this chapter well, you can totally ignore this. :) Thanks for reading!