Author's Note: I start school next week and will be very busy when classes start. I hope to get at least one more chapter up before then. Please don't give up on me! I want to finish this as much as you (hopefully) do. In the meantime, I have written a one-shot called "Scars Run Deep," featuring Draco and Astoria. Please check it out if you get the chance.
Disclaimer: We all wish we could own Harry Potter, but only J.K. Rowling gets that pleasure.
Chapter 8
He suffered a serious meltdown at work, and worried he would give himself up to the veil at last. But he fought it, clenching his teeth as a barrier to the pain. Fighting the pain was like fighting a dementor. You had to face some unpleasant thoughts if you were going to refuse to give in. He was troubled; he worried that he hadn't confronted the source of his pain. Yet he was apprehensive for the moment when he would have to. He went home, practically sprinted to the Room, the hurt bubbling in his stomach. Looking around at the faces of those he loved, he took a deep breath. It felt as though the world was listening. "He is the reason you all are dead. I hated him, hated him with a passion to match my love for all of you. But fighting him…fighting him was my purpose in life. Now, what do I have left?" The eyes that watched him were painted, but he could feel their spirits in the room too. "More of my friends and family are dead than alive," he finished in a whisper. He felt the eyes of the most recent added picture watching him closely, trying to remind him of her last message through her painted eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if I should have gone on. If I would rather be with you." The vividly blue eyes seemed to peer into his soul as he curled into a ball on the floor. As he murmured their names painfully, he heard footsteps outside the door. He found that he did not care who heard anymore.
I awoke from a yet another haunting nightmare, shaking with fear as I slowly sat up. Dad had been in his Room…he was hurt somehow…some kind of veil…I found the details fading too quickly, slipping through my fingers like the memory was liquid.
As I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I was struck with a sudden realization. I was not in my bedroom. I stood upright quickly and observed my strange surroundings. It was the foggy white room that often interrupted my nightmares…yet something was different. While I normally felt like a visitor, seeing the room within my head, I felt more grounded this time.
As if I was really there.
Looking around again, I gathered what I knew.
I was in this strange room, perhaps physically, for the first time.
I was wearing a simple, white cotton nightdress that I certainly did not own.
I was standing on some kind of surface, but it was undeterminable thought the haze.
I was, at the moment, alone.
First, I should find out if I am really asleep, I concurred. Grabbing my left arm, I pinched it hard. No result. It seemed I really was awake. I tried several more times, to be sure.
"Whatever do you hope to accomplish by doing that?" A pleasant voice behind me asked. With a shriek that, strangely enough, did not echo, I spun around. Sitting on the ground a few yards behind me was an elderly man, dressed in midnight blue robes and sporting a long white beard. He looked very pleased to see me there. He smiled politely and said, "If you were to wake yourself at this moment, it would be very hard for us to have a proper conversation. I must say, your brain has an ingenious knack of wakening you up at the worst possible moments."
The voice tingled in my memory, and I quickly exclaimed, "It's you! You've been haunting my dreams!" I paused, considering the first dream. "I thought you said it was not my time yet."
His smile sustained, but his eyes looked rather sad. "Come now, I wouldn't say I have been haunting you. In fact, I am interrupting your regular, nightmarish dreams. Might I add that they are satisfyingly accurate. And, to be clear, I had said at the time that you were not ready. Now, I think that time is remarkably close. But perhaps I should introduce myself. Will you please sit?"
I walked over to him cautiously, although I felt an inherent trust of him. Even before he sat, I had a feeling I knew who he was. As I sat down in the surprisingly comfortable nothingness, he extended a hand.
Grasping his hand, I said, "I am Lily Potter. The second." His smile was knowing.
In turn he replied, "I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. The first." I sighed quietly, avoiding his eyes.
"What is troubling you, young Lily?"
I glanced up, seeing his blue eyes genuinely curious. "How did I die?" I whispered.
"My dear, you are most certainly not dead," he said, chuckling. His eyes twinkled merrily. "Although I understand your confusion. A young boy I once knew had a similar train of thought, and was just as confused as you are now."
"But…how can I be talking to you? You are dead. That man, Snape, he killed you." I avoided his first name, feeling uncomfortable saying it to the other man my brother was named for. He frowned. "As I often reminded your father, he should be called by his proper title of Professor Snape. But that is beside the point. As for our current communication…let's just say that we are at a crossroad. A gateway, if you will, between life and death."
"Like King's Cross Station?" I asked. He simply beamed.
"Indeed. You are undeniably your father's daughter. Although, permit me to say, you look remarkably like both of you grandmothers. Now, child, our time is short. I arranged this meeting so that we could speak freely of your father's near future, and your role in it."
"Why is my brother named for you and your killer?" I blurted, unable to hold in the question in any longer.
He frowned at me, but did not appear angry. Rather, I felt as though his bright blue eyes were looking into my soul.
"Always remember that the media rarely reports the truth, and, when it does so, it often misses significant facts. Although yes, Severus Snape produced the fatal curse, I assure you there is a great deal more to the story. But I shall let your father explain that to you when the time comes."
He glanced at a pocket watch. Craning my neck slightly, I saw that it had twelve hands and no numbers. It appeared to have stopped, although he still seemed to gather information from it. How can he read a dead clock? I wondered.
"Our time is even shorter than I realized. I must speak quickly. Lily, as you may realize, your father is suffering a great deal of pain. It was caused by a long and challenging childhood, which I unfortunately contributed to. Therefore, I owe it to your father to help alleviate that suffering. It is my belief that you are the one who can help him best right now. But in order to do that, you must understand. Somehow, you must convince your father to show you the Room and tell you about his past. Then, and only then, can you help him to recover."
I did not ask how he knew of the Room. "But…he doesn't want to show me yet. He said that I am his baby and he doesn't want to break my innocence. And my brother Al, he said not to pester Dad about it. How am I supposed to do something that nobody wants me to do? Sir?" I was greatly confused, and starting to panic. Time was indeed running out. I could feel my body struggling to wake.
"Lily," he said firmly, "You need to trust me. You can convince him to reveal the Room to you. You must be gentle with him, yet it must be done. But it must be done as quickly as possible. Then, and only then, can you understand how to help him."
The room started to fade.
"No, please explain to me. How can I help him? I don't want him to suffer any longer. What happened in his past?"
He gave me another sad smile, and waved goodbye.
"Good luck Lily. I have faith in you. When you understand the truth, we will meet again."
The room disappeared with a soft click.
