Chapter III: Lost
"Lost? No, it's been found by the Department of Mysteries."
Harry could feel excitement and dread building inside him. There was surely a chance to go back; he was not dead. The thought of seeing his loved ones again sent a wave of joy through him like hot Chocolate on a cold winter's night.
"Regretfully, I must contradict you. I am well aware of the inner workings of the Department of Mysteries and can assure you that the Lost Archway has never been recovered."
Harry opened his mouth to counter Dumbledore when, from the corner of his eye, he saw Lily fall. By the time the words to the Cushioning Charm formed on his lips, she already lay on a floating stretcher.
"She needs to see Madam Pomfrey," said Harry, "I had to subdue her with a Calming Charm."
Dumbledore frowned slightly. "Quite understandable. I daresay this conversation would be best confined within the welcoming walls of Hogwarts, in any case - it is unwise to linger in insecure locations in these troubled times."
Dumbledore led the procession down the creaking stairs of the Shack; Lily floated behind him and Harry took the rear, a formation he was comfortable with. However, when Dumbledore headed for the front door, Harry said, "Where are you going?"
Dumbledore cocked his head, his expression suggesting pleasant surprise, as though Harry had offered him a sherbet lemon. "To the school; were you hoping for a detour?"
"No, I was hoping I wouldn't be patronised. I know about the tunnel from the Shack to the school."
Dumbledore smiled as if Harry had solved a particularly taxing riddle. "I apologise for any offence - I was merely attempting to protect the secrets of the school. After all, caution is the father of security."
Neither spoke as they traipsed through the tunnel, the magically frozen leaves of the Whomping Willow, the Hogwarts grounds and, finally, the deserted Entrance Hall. Dumbledore stopped, quite suddenly, in the centre of the hall. He gave a sharp, high whistle and a house-elf appeared.
"Headmaster Dumblydore, sir!" squeaked the House-elf, bowing so low its nose brushed the polished, flagstone floor.
"Good evening, Cruncher," said Dumbledore. "Would you be kind enough to transport dear Lily to the Hospital Wing?"
"Cruncher is happy to, Headmaster Dumblydore, sir!" The House-elf bowed once more and disappeared with Lily.
"Are you sure that's good for her?" said Harry.
"Quite; House-elf Apparition possesses a level of subtlety and comfort we humans can only dream of. Rest assured, Lily is quite safe. Come, Mr Potter."
They ascended the white, marble staircase, neither of them making a noise. The torches on either wall came alive as they approached, only to be extinguished when they passed. The first floor was equally empty; there was a faint, dimming light far in the distance which Harry assumed was a Prefect. They climbed the next set of stairs in silence.
"Albus, old boy, what a pleasant surprise!"
Harry did not need the light from the torches that had illuminated the second floor landing to know that the booming voice belonged to Horace Slughorn. In his own time, Harry had reluctantly attended Horace's dinner parties once a year since the battle of Hogwarts. He endured being paraded around the Slug Club like a prize horse – Slughorn made sure to introduce Harry to each of his favourites that year. In return, Slughorn became the Auror department's Potions expert. After all, with the death of Severus, Slughorn was widely regarded as the leading British expert in Potioneering – he was invaluable in cases involving potions beyond Auror training.
"A pleasure as always, my dear Horace."
Harry considered hanging back and waiting for Slughorn to leave. Then, when he craned his neck, he saw that the old Potions Professor's enormous bulk was positioned in a way that suggesting he was going to come down the stairs. It would be better to appear naturally and let Dumbledore come up with an excuse – after all, Harry would probably never see this Slughorn ever again. Why should he care if he was seen?
"Oho!" cried Slughorn when Harry climbed the final few steps. He looked much the same as he did in Harry's time, except his great walrus-like moustache was streaked with gold and there were grey wisps of head hair dancing around a shiny bald patch. "James, m'boy, what brings you to Hogwarts?"
Harry opened his mouth to contradict him, when Dumbledore cut in. "James and I have some urgent matters to discuss. I felt, for his safety, the conversation was best conducted in my office."
"A fine plan! How has Lily been faring recently?"
"Fine," said Harry, forcing a smile. He did not meet Slughorn's eyes – the dim light was hiding his eye colour but direct eye contact would blow his cover.
Slughorn's toothy grin became a concerned frown. "Are you alright there, James, you don't seem yourself."
"It's been a difficult few weeks," said Harry, deciding not to refer to Slughorn by name. For all he knew, James had a special nickname for the Potions Master and using his real name would only cause suspicion.
"That's quite understandable, m'boy." Slughorn pat Harry's shoulder sympathetically. "Well, I won't keep you gentlemen any longer. Good night to you both!"
"Let us hope it is," said Dumbledore.
The distant echo of Slughorn's footsteps stayed with them as they walked briskly to the Gargoyle at the end of the empty corridor. Dumbledore muttered the password – "Humbugs" – and they waited for the moving staircase to take them to the office.
Even in the dim light, Dumbledore's office appeared exactly as Harry remembered. Every last detail, from the wall of portraits to Fawkes' cage was the same. Harry noticed the expensive silver instruments on the spindle-legged table and could not help but smile sadly. What he had not known the day he destroyed them was that the total cost of damages he had incurred neared two thousand Galleons, yet Dumbledore did not bat an eyelid. It would be a formidable task convincing the old headmaster to help him leave, but Harry had the edge – surprise.
Dumbledore took his usual seat behind his desk and Harry took his, beside the spindle-legged table. Dumbledore smiled at him, waiting for Harry to speak and Harry reciprocated. They sat smiling at each other for what seemed an age. Well aware that Dumbledore was reading his thoughts, Harry recalled highlights of his life until fifth year. While he had never managed to master Occlumency, he had learnt, courtesy of Robards himself, the fundamentals of showing a Legilimens what he wants to see. Considering how few Legilimens were left following the deaths of Dumbledore, Severus and Voldemort, the fundamentals were all he needed.
When Harry felt some of his sixth year memories coming to the forefront of his mind, he said, "We came here to talk, not to have my mind raided."
"I apologise," said Dumbledore, unabashed. "Would you like something to drink, tea, perhaps?"
"No, thank you. No confectionary either, please."
Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow but otherwise remained calm as ever. "Are you quite sure I cannot tempt you with a mint humbug? They are quite delightful, though I must admit the aftertaste leaves much to be desired."
"I don't need to be put at ease," said Harry. He enjoyed watching Dumbledore hide his surprise – it was so quick, Harry almost missed the slight pupil dilation. He thought about all the times in the past six years he had wished for Dumbledore's convoluted advice and now, when he finally had that impossible chance, he wanted nothing more than to be speaking to somebody straight-talking and easily read – somebody like Ron.
"I would appreciate being told the events leading to our meeting in the Shrieking Shack."
"I'll tell you," said Harry, "if you promise not to lie throughout our chat."
"I would like to think my other-worldly counterpart refrained from lying unless provoked."
"So would I, but we both know that's far from the truth. Now, I'm asking whether or not you can give me an Oath that you won't lie to me. By all means evade certain truths, we'll both be doing a bit of that, but I'd like to think all that is said will be hard truths."
"I admit I am surprised by your distrust..."
"Caution may be the father, Professor, but distrust is the mother of security."
Dumbledore chuckled and, to Harry's surprise, gave the Oath. He did, however, ask Harry to reciprocate, to which Harry grudgingly complied. He was, however, reasonably pleased that there wouldn't be any white lies on the table. With that thought, he launched into the tale of how he came to the past, starting with Teddy's kidnap and ending with Dumbledore disarming him.
"So here's what I'm saying," said Harry, throat a little parched, "I want to go back, obviously. I've got very dear friends as well as a godson who I love like he was my own. I can't stay here. I tried to help baby Harry and messed up royally-"
"I daresay saving Lily is far from a failure."
"I didn't save my father, which means mission incomplete, which means failure. But I suppose baby Harry's better off than he would've been with the Dursleys – good job hiding him, by the way – and so I've appeased my conscience. While I'd love to get to know my mother, I can't abandon my friends and godson to do that. So, if you'd be so kind, I want to go back through the veil."
Dumbledore leaned back and examined him closely, a crease appearing in his forehead. "Harry – may I call you Harry?" Harry nodded. "There are some factors you have not considered. Firstly, you assume I was lying about the Lost Archway – I assure you I was not. This piece of information leads to another; you are not, as you believe, in the past. All the evidence suggests you are, from your perspective, in an alternate reality."
Harry's eyes narrowed. Alternate reality? "What is the evidence?"
"What few ancient writings we have recovered suggest that King Nebuchadnezzar's Archway was not a portal through time; this we can corroborate. After all, would his appearances in various time periods not have been documented? No, the writings imply that the Archway is a link between parallel dimensions that independently exist side by side. Moving away from the murky waters of ancient data, your existence here, scar and all, is evidence enough. Had you indeed come to the past and saved Lily, you would have not only saved yourself from that curse scar, but you would not have been the one Voldemort chose. It therefore follows that Rodolphus Lestrange would have no motivation behind his assassination attempt. As a result, you would not have walked through the Archway. In other words, the changes you have made to the natural timeline have had no effect on you whatsoever."
"Then there's the fact that we actually managed to find the veil in our world," said Harry, frowning. "Oh, and Voldemort himself. In my...dimension, did you say?" Dumbledore nodded. "Voldemort looks more like a snake than a person."
"Yes, undoubtedly you find subtle differences between your world and ours. The most concrete proof we have, however, is the disappearance of baby Harry, for I did not enact any further defensive measures. It is my belief that when the Fidelius was broken and you arrived at Godric's Hollow, your souls collided – there could not be two Harry Potters in existence. Your soul, far stronger and more experienced, triumphed and his soul merged with yours. It is my belief that, sadly, young Harry is forever lost."
Harry sighed and leaned back on his chair. "She thinks I'm her Harry."
"A viable conclusion, without the evidence."
"A different dimension..." Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It seemed an age since he had last slept. "Professor, I'm going to find the veil."
"So elusive is the Lost Archway that many believe it is mythical. After decades of arduous work, the Ministry have yet to locate it. I tell you this not to crush hope, but to make you quite aware of the difficult road you have chosen."
"What are you hiding?" said Harry sharply.
Dumbledore opened his mouth but closed it almost immediately. He had almost lied. "I must say, I have never met such a perceptive young man..."
"Don't dodge the question."
"I have a proposition for you, one I hope you find agreeable." Harry could not miss the worry on the old man's face as he rose from his seat and went to the open window. "We are losing this war, Harry. We have, in the past few weeks alone, lost Benjy Fenwick, Marlene McKinnon, James Potter and now young Harry. How many other Peter Pettigrews have infiltrated the Order? Who will die next week? I confide in you this which I have told no other because you have defeated Voldemort."
"How do you-"
"Never can live while the other survives. Voldemort was never patient – he would have forced the fulfilment of the Prophecy one way or the other."
"Yes, with enormous help from you and my friends, I defeated Voldemort. I can see where this is going, Professor, but I'm sorry, I can't...not again."
"I do not ask you to defeat him, only to help us...to help me. Every fatality adds another burden to this old heart and I fear it cannot cope with any more loss. I believe now that the Prophecy, the one weapon we possessed, has turned against us – it has been fulfilled in Voldemort's favour –"
"It's equally, if not more, likely that Neville will now be the Prophecy child. Look, how about this; I'll tell you how to win the war and in return, you help me get back."
"Allow me to show you some brief memories of mine," said Dumbledore, retrieving his Pensieve from its cabinet and placing it on his surprisingly tidy desk. He disturbed the surface with his wand and a tall, broad-shouldered man floated out from its silvery depths. "This is Edgar Bones, a member of the Minister's Council and a very close friend of mine."
"Albus," barked Bones, his booming voice laced with aristocracy, "the Iraqi Minister of Culture has been in touch with us; it's as we feared. There have been reported sightings of a man fitting You-Know-Who's description near the site where the Hanging Gardens of Babylon is said to rest. He's looking for the Archway."
Dumbledore tapped the surface and Bones descending back into the Pensieve, only to be replaced by a short, stooped, ancient man. "This is Marlon McMahon," he muttered, "the wizarding world's leading expert on the seven ancient wonders of the world."
"Crooked thieves the lot of them!" wheezed McMahon. "All my life's work, gone! Had it not been for my son, they would have killed me, I suspect. Oh, Albus, you must retrieve those scrolls; I shudder to think of the damage they can cause if misused."
Dumbledore tapped the Pensieve once more and McMahon disappeared into its depths. "You have undoubtedly come to the conclusion that our paths are intertwined. Lord Voldemort has the scrolls that lead to the Lost Archway and he will be guarding them jealously. If we assist one another, I am quite sure you agree we will both benefit."
"Ok, how about this for a deal: I take down his six Horcruxes but you find and off him yourself. Once that's done, you've gotten rid of him, I get to go home and we're all happy."
Dumbledore furrowed his brow. "Horcruxes? Please elucidate, Harry."
It was Harry's turn to frown; surely if Slughorn knew of Horcruxes when Voldemort was in school, so did Dumbledore. "Horcruxes are items that store pieces of the soul. Voldemort has used them to guard against death."
"It appears we have encountered yet another subtle difference between our worlds. I am quite sure that such a vulgar form of magic does not exist considering how stringently Voldemort has been searching for methods of prolonging his life. Carelessness is inadvisable, however, and I will contact a good friend of mine to confirm my beliefs."
It was Harry's turn to frown. Horcruxes not existing would explain why Voldemort looked normal – it was probably the Horcruxes that had robbed him of his human appearance. "If he doesn't even have Horcruxes, what's the problem? You're the most powerful living wizard, by my reckoning."
"You are too kind, Harry. Unfortunately, I have had very few chances to bring Voldemort to justice; he has proven to be quite elusive. If we were to locate him, we would find the scrolls and stand a reasonable chance of defeating him."
It was Harry's turn to stand up. "I have to think about this."
"Quite understandable."
"I assume you want me to keep up this persona as da- James."
"If you would be so kind. I have one last request I hope you accept. It would be beneficial for your safety and the successful maintenance of your persona as James if you remained in the castle until you reach a decision."
Harry paused, considered, and then decided on a non-committal, "I'll see what I can do. Goodnight, Professor."
"Goodnight, Harry."
Three days had passed. Harry had kept his word and had not left the castle since his talk with Dumbledore. He had spent the hours alone contemplating his next move. Clearly, there were fundamental differences between this world and his, differences that he had to learn of sooner or later if he were to successfully return.
Harry glanced at his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time – half-past ten. He paced up and down the room he had been given, annoyed at the slow passage of time. The dark red curtains had been parted, allowing the early morning November sunlight to filter through the arched windows and illuminate Harry's generous quarters. He had been given a comfortable four-poster bed that had reminded him of his time at Hogwarts, a reasonably sized table and enough carpet space for him to pace comfortably. At his request, his food arrived in his room, three times a day and, like the food, back editions of the Daily Prophet were supplied. The ones he had been sent today lay across his table:
Mounting Pressure On Bagnold After Famous Aurors' Disappearances
By special reporter Rita Skeeter
Frank and Alice Longbottom were confirmed as the latest Aurors missing yesterday evening by Head of the Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch.
The announcement came as pressure has been mounting on pacifist Minister for Magic Millicent Bagnold to step down. A source close to the Minister told your reporter, "Bagnold is definitely losing her grip on power. She has failed to quell the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and refuses to acknowledge that emergency measures must be enforced if we are to stand any chance against Him."
Meanwhile, Mr Crouch has been hailed for his no-nonsense approach to captured Death Eaters. Measures such as widening Auror powers and throwing Death Eaters in Azkaban without cumbersome, time-consuming trials have levelled the playing field, with more Death Eaters being caught than ever before.
But with the continual depletion of his forces and lack of support from Brainless Bagnold, can Mr Crouch hold out for much...
The rest of the article was covered by another one.
Dumbledore Calls For More Protection For Muggle-borns
The article itself was covered by another clipping.
Head Healer Warns: St Mungo's On The Brink of Closure
There are so few spare beds left at St Mungo's, the hospital has been forced to turn away any patient whose affliction is not classified as 'severe', Head Healer Gormond warned today.
"Our Healers are beyond stretching point and, with increasing patient numbers and Healers emigrating, the hospital is in real danger. If the Minister does not act quickly to invest money in the protection of our employees and opening of new wings, I fear we will no longer be able to operate. Our need is dire...
The remainder of the column had was covered by one last article.
Economy In "Worst Crisis For Five Hundred Years"
Economists working for Gringott's have warned that the British wizarding economy will collapse without immediate financial restructuring by the Ministry.
" Our previously flourishing trade links with America, India and Hungary have waned in recent months amidst fears that our top businesses are being run by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," said Morris Jackson, Gringott's Head Economist.
"Many of our strongest economic allies are boycotting our goods and as a result, 20 of businesses have been forced to close, 8 of which is thought be from direct Death Eater intervention. A further 35 are predicted to be paying blood money to Death Eaters, and 15 are only floating due to dwindling Ministry subsidies. We have a real crisis on our hands and without drastic action, the brain drain will intensify and the economy will stagnate. This is our worst crisis for five hundred years...
Harry had not been surprised by what he had read. Voldemort, as he expected, kept a low profile and had begun his ascent to power with a string of high-profile disappearances, both of information and Ministry personnel. There were combinations of co-ordinated attacks on Muggle-borns as well as isolated assassinations on outspoken anti-pure-blood activists such as Morris Jackson. The uncertainty of the public had been cleverly manipulated and any criminal activity was mindlessly blamed on the Death Eaters, with or without substantial evidence. What had angered Harry, however, was the reaction of the Bagnold. Far from reassuring the public, the flustered Minister had introduced flawed decrees such as forbidding the public from speaking Voldemort's name for their own "self-preservation".
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Harry stopped pacing and looked to the window. It was a Daily Prophet owl, which he hastily allowed in and paid, in return for that morning's edition. Clutching the newspaper, still warm from the press, Harry sat at his desk, pushing away his empty cereal bowl and old newspaper clippings to make room for it. He unrolled the paper and glanced at the headline.
Barmy Bagnold Resigns, Crouch New Minister
By Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter
Minister Millicent Bagnold resigned from office last night amid fears that her five year-old son was in danger, your reporter can exclusively reveal. Her resignation comes after a Wizengamot official yesterday confessed his concerns over her mishandling of the war against the Dark Lord.
The Daily Prophet can also exclusively reveal that the Wizengamot has unanimously elected Bartemius Crouch, former no-nonsense Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as the new Minister for Magic. Through his visionary leadership, the Auror Department has brought to justice more Death Eaters than it has ever known.
A source close to the new Minister said, "Minister Bagnold was an adequate politician in her own right, but never a war-time leader. Mr Crouch will prove far more proactive and will bring the peace we crave."
Minister Crouch, who is believed to be drawing up defence measures with his team of experts, was unavailable for comment.
More on what we can expect from Minister Crouch on pages 2, 3, 4, 6, and 7.
Harry frowned at the black-and-white photo of a plump, greying witch, captioned as Bagnold, doing her best to move out of frame. He skimmed through the ensuing pages dubiously – unless he was very much mistaken, Crouch had brokered some kind of deal with the Prophet. Every article was full of praise for the new Minister and scorn for Bagnold who, they implied, was hustled out of office.
Harry was reading about some of Crouch's most significant captures when there was a soft knock on the door. He went to the door and instinctively wrapped his left hand around his wand. The room was, by his request, on the sixth floor, in a part of the castle Harry knew was never used. He was only ever visited briefly by Dumbledore once a day, always in the evening. So who was this?
Harry slowly opened the door, positioning his body so that his left shoulder was facing the door – that way, he was minimising the area of his body susceptible to attack and improving his chances of dodging offensive spells. It was all in vain, however; it was Lily. She looked far better than she did on Halloween – her skin had retained its natural pinkish glow, her eyes were unblemished and her hair had been neatly tied in a ponytail. She smiled, but the melancholy in her eyes contradicted it.
"May I come in?" she said, her voice soft.
"Of course," said Harry. He considered conjuring a chair but, remembering that Voldemort had done the very same thing, offered her a seat on his bed, while he pulled up his desk chair.
Harry had not seen her since Halloween. He understood what she was going through and knew that, in her place, he would have liked to be left alone to grieve. After all, those two weeks alone at the Dursleys after Sirius' death, all those years ago, did him a world of good. Even if he suspected Dumbledore had not, he wanted to give her space and instead sent a note along with a house-elf telling her she was more than welcome to come and see him when she was ready.
"Would you like something to drink?" said Harry. "Tea, coffee, Butterbeer?"
"A Butterbeer would be wonderful, thanks." She sat with her fingers fidgeting nervously over her lap.
Harry relayed her preference to his empty cereal bowl, which almost instantly disappeared, replaced by two pint-glasses of Butterbeer. He gave one to Lily and raised his silently before drinking a quarter of it in one go. She only drank a sip, then cupped it in her hands.
"Are you feeling better?" he said, breaking the awkward silence.
"Much better, thanks." She took another sip of Butterbeer. "Your eyes..."
"Dumbledore asked if I could turn them brown, so that, you know..."
"Yes, I know," she said sharply. "I came here to thank you for saving me, and for stopping me from doing anything reckless."
"You're welcome, but I regret not getting in time to save –"
"I'd also like to thank you for giving me some space these past few days," she interrupted, and Harry noticed her hand had tightened around her glass.
Harry leaned forward involuntarily. "I know how it feels."
Harry could see her struggling not to cry. "To lose a husband?"
"No, to have everyone you've ever loved taken away from you one by one. To feel completely alone, to have all hope, warmth and happiness sucked from you so that all you're left with is the numb realisation that you'll never see that smile you loved, or hear that laugh that lifted your spirits when you were down."
She looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears. "He ruined your life, too?"
"Yeah, for a while."
"For a while?"
"I killed him in my seventh year."
Lily's eyes widened with horror and disbelief. "You killed Voldemort while you were at school?"
"I had a lot of help from Dumbledore and my friends; it's not like when Dumbledore beat Grindelwald."
Lily leaned forward, hope creeping into her face. Her breaths were fast and heavy. "Surely if you've done it once-"
"There are some major differences between my world and this one; it's not a simple case of retracing my steps."
"Oh," she said.
She seemed so crushed, so defeated, that Harry said, "But I'm going to give the Order all the help I can."
Another awkward silence descended between them, and Lily stared over his shoulder, her eyes hollow and distant. She had come to him to remind herself of James, the way she had hungrily studied his face when she entered told him that much, but Harry was not sure how to broach the subject, or whether to do it at all.
Harry met Lily's gaze and could see in her eyes that she desperately wished he was James or her baby. It was disconcerting, but he did not break eye contact, she needed this to recover.
"Have you ever felt you made one great mistake, one that ruined your entire life?"
"Yes," said Harry, "many, but in the end they worked themselves out, I suppose. Why?"
Lily looked down at her glass. "No, forget it, sorry, I'm being silly. I keep mistaking...I mean, you were raised magically so it'd be nonsense, anyway..."
"I wasn't raised magically."
Lily, in mid-sip, snorted out her drink and her laughs became a coughing fit. "Please don't humour me, how could you not have been raised magically? I mean, there's Sirius for one..."
"In Azkaban," said Harry, "for murdering thirteen Muggles, set up by none other than Peter Pettigrew."
Lily's mouth formed a small 'o'. "Remus?"
"A werewolf."
"Of course, Umbridge and that horrid decree. Frank and Alice?"
Harry sighed. "Dear Bellatrix and her gang tortured them to insanity shortly after Halloween."
Horror-struck, Lily whispered, "And Dumbledore?"
"I told you three days ago that your sacrifice protected me, remember?" Lily nodded. "Well, your protection extended to anyone related to you as well. In other words, none of those vengeance-seeking Death Eaters could reach me if I was with someone related to you."
"No..."
"I grew up with Aunt Petunia and her husband, blissfully unaware that magic existed."
"Goodness...I'm so sorry..."
"No point crying over spilt milk; I'm still here and relatively undamaged, after all. I even visit Petunia's son, Dudley, and his girlfriend from time to time. He still clutches his bum every time I draw my wand – it's hilarious." Noticing Lily's puzzlement, Harry explained the incident with Hagrid and his botched transfiguration. He was pleased to see Lily smile for the first time; it softened her features and made her look as pretty as the photos Harry had of her.
"Anyway, that's my roundabout way of saying that I'll understand whatever you have to say."
Lily fidgeted with her glass, then said, "Have you ever felt that opening your Hogwarts letter was the worst mistake you ever made?"
"Yes," said Harry, "quite a few times. There were long periods where I felt so out of love with the magical world that I wanted, more than anything else, to be rid of it. If I didn't have the Dursleys waiting for me in the Muggle world, I'm quite sure I would've acted on it."
She placed the glass of Butterbeer on the bedside table. "I'm sick of this war, Harry. I'm sick of preparing funeral speeches, I'm sick of this writhing, torturous despair, I'm sick of..." She trailed off and put her head in her hands.
Harry laid a sympathetic hand on her knee. "You've got to have hope in times like these. Voldemort's goals are to enslave Muggles – everyone is affected by this war. If you had rejected the wizarding world, it would have lost a damn good witch and the fight against Voldemort would be a whole lot weaker than it is now. You lost your husband and only child, and I may never know what that feels like. But what I do know is that people look up to you. Throughout my time at Hogwarts, everyone who knew you told me what a great witch you were – they saw you as an integral part of the war. What I learnt the hard way is that we've got to be strong for those around us and never let lose the will to fight for what we believe in, because if we do that, Voldemort's won already."
"You're right," whispered Lily. "I can't let them die for nothing. I'll keep fighting...for them, it's the least they deserve. Thank you, Harry."
"Any time."
"And I'm sorry about Petunia."
"You've got nothing to be sorry about."
"I'd better go; Poppy wants to do some final checks on me."
"I'm surprised she let you go before doing it."
They shared a small smile as Lily rose from the bed and walked to the door. She stopped at the doorway and Harry went over to her. "Thank you, Harry, for everything."
"You're welcome...Lily. I suspect we'll see each other very soon."
"Yes, I hope so."
She hesitated for a moment, then hugged Harry briefly. The embrace felt so much like one of Hermione's that he was a little surprised that the hair brushing against his ear was straight and red, rather than bushy brown. She pulled away, shared one last smile with him and disappeared down the corridor.
