Wow. It's the last chapter. I have to be honest and say that for the last year or so, I wasn't sure I would ever get to this point. I definitely lost a lot of steam at the end, part of that was due to being so busy with school. A word of warning to any of you who are looking to pursue a college degree in engineering, be prepared to give up most of your social life, haha. It's very worthwhile, though. Since the last time I posted a chapter, I was finishing up my senior year of college, then it was off to finding a job and working. Crazy how time flies. And, well, life just gets in the way sometimes. My sincerest apologies for the ridiculously long delay.
This chapter has less action, but more dialogue than the last. It's mostly tying up some loose ends, the aftermath and examining character reactions, and setting up the sequel. It took me a long time to finish, and I'm not quite sure I'm totally satisfied with it, but here it is.
I think it's best for me to take a break from this series for a while and write other stories I've been itching to write so I can come back to this refreshed. So it may be a while before I start publishing the sequel. But I'll be writing other stories, so if you liked this story, stay in tune for those! (Probably some shorter Harry Potter stories, Hunger Games, etc.) But in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this last chapter and I hope you've enjoyed this story! Thank you all so much for sticking with me.
Chapter 24
Post Mortem
Light blue eyes blazed with energy, staring into Harry's own. Dumbledore stood across him, the Pensieve between them casting a shimmering haze upon their faces. After a pregnant pause, the older wizard spoke.
"You know what this means, don't you, Harry?"
"We're closer to destroying the Horcruxes," answered Harry.
Dumbledore's mouth curved into a light smile, "Indeed, we are. I have no doubt that this brings us one crucial step forward. It also gives us more information about the nature of the Horcruxes themselves."
Harry was relieved to hear this; however, he still harbored some doubts.
"But the piece of soul, is it gone or just inside of the dementor?"
After the night's events, Harry felt a rising panic that he might've actually made things worse, immortalizing the soul within the dementor. What if he had only moved the shard of Voldemort's soul?
"No, Harry," said Dumbledore, knowing what thoughts must have been swirling inside Harry's head. "You did well. You have parted the soul with its object that had been specially selected by Voldemort to encase his soul with Dark Magic. This gives us an advantage."
That may be so, thought Harry, but what next? "What about the dementor?"
"Dementors are not, contrary to popular belief, immortal," explained Dumbledore. "If the conditions on which they subsist are altered, their number can be greatly reduced, and perhaps, eventually eradicated."
"What sort of conditions?" Harry asked, curious.
"Dementors, as you know, cannot persist in warm, dry areas for extended periods of time. But primarily, they prey on people's emotions, robbing them and leaving nothing but despair for their victims. Without a suitable environment, if you eradicate the conditions in which they multiply — despair, misery, hopelessness… they can simply cease to exist."
"But can they be killed?"
"As non-beings, I would daresay they could hardly be considered living in the first place, but no… no one has of yet devised a direct way to destroy them. Or if anyone has, that knowledge has been lost in time."
"So what, make it super hot and get rid of depression?" surmised Harry with a healthy dose of skepticism.
"Most certainly not. But fumigating their breeding grounds, so to speak, will significantly decrease their number. This strategy was implemented after the First War until Voldemort rose again. Only a few remained, at Azkaban, but we were able to control their population. It is no matter that the Horcrux remains in the dementor. In this war, we ultimately would have been forced to combat the dementors. The plan was always to vanquish those abominable creatures."
Great, thought Harry. They might not be closer to defeating Voldemort after all. It didn't seem to make any difference. Everything depended on being able to destroy Voldemort, which was beginning to seem more and more impossible to do.
Sensing Harry's disappointment, Dumbledore quickly supplied, "We now have a greater understanding of the properties of these Horcruxes. We should never forget the power in knowledge. Knowledge not only of the Horcruxes' vulnerability to dementors, but the dementors' vulnerability to Legilimency as well. This is very promising news, Harry. Very promising indeed."
Harry looked up at Dumbledore in confusion. The elder wizard continued. "You stated, did you not, the apparent attack on our mind, and your successful attempt to neutralize it?"
Harry pondered Dumbledore's words in astonishment. "Well… yes, but that — was Legilimency?"
Dumbledore nodded his head in confirmation. "Of a sort, yes. I believe so." He tilted his head slightly to the side as if evaluating Harry. "Extraordinarily creative thinking on your part to connect the lost pieces of soul to the nature of the dementors. I had not thought of that particular theory."
"Thank you, sir." Though, if he was being honest, it had mostly been a lucky hunch than a moment of brilliance and insight.
Gazing at Harry over the top of his spectacles as he so often did, Dumbledore said, "This puzzle will not be an easy one to solve. It seems as though we unearth ten more questions for every solution we discover. You should be proud you have helped us get that much closer. This achievement will be instrumental in assisting our mission, of that I am certain."
"And while we are broaching the topic of Legilimency, I should inform you that I have decided I will be taking a more active role in your private lessons next year."
Harry sat up straighter. "You will?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
"I will indeed," replied Dumbledore with a smile. "You will still, of course, practice Occlumency with Professor Snape. But he tells me you are making great progress and will soon only need an occasional session to ensure you maintain your skill level in that particular area. And while Snape is certainly a capable Legilimens, his mastery lies in Occlumency. Luckily, Legilimency is an area of my expertise. So we will be delving more into that branch of magic when you return for the next school year."
Harry perked up at this. Real magic lessons from Dumbledore, one-on-one, would be a welcome opportunity.
"So, will I still have my lessons with Snape every week?"
"He still wishes to continue with Occlumency for now, though those lessons will become less frequent in the near future. He does, however, suggest you continue to learn the nuances of the Magician's Duel."
Harry couldn't help but think his most vital education would be occurring outside of the classroom next year. If it weren't for the fact that he was learning all of this because Voldemort wanted him dead, he would consider himself extremely fortunate.
"You will even be able to continue these lessons during the summer if you wish. If you are agreeable, there is a way we could make your lessons much more accessible during your recess from school."
His brow furrowing slightly, Harry tried to guess at what Dumbledore was suggesting.
"As you know, there is still the grave matter of a potential traitor in the Order."
Harry nodded, encouraging Dumbledore to elaborate; he was unsure how this was related.
"While this places everyone at risk, it poses a particular threat to Professor Snape."
"I don't understand," said Harry, finally giving in. "What does this have to do with my lessons?"
"Ah, I was getting to that. I believe that it would be unwise for Severus — excuse me, Professor Snape — to remain in vulnerable locations any longer than necessary. While he is afforded relatively high security here at Hogwarts, during the summer which he normally prefers to spend at his personal home, this is not the case. When classes halt for the break, Voldemort tends to request the presence of our Potion's master quite frequently, wishing to take advantage of the free time. Therefore, I believe the best option is for him to stay at Headquarters with you. There, access to Headquarters is restricted to Order members only. This would allow me to keep track of everyone's comings and goings and either isolate Voldemort's agent, or else, keep unwelcome visitors from spying on our own spy."
Dumbledore's idea made sense. Harry didn't have any real problems with it. It wasn't as if they had to spend all their time together. But…
"Snape agreed to this?" Harry asked, unable to keep the incredulity from creeping into his voice.
"Professor Snape, Harry. And, yes, while it took a great deal of finagling on my part, he did eventually concede that it was for the best. Of course, I cannot force you to take him in. It is entirely your choice, Harry; as it is, after all, your house. However, I would advise —"
"It's fine. He can stay." While it wasn't by any means the most enticing living arrangement, Harry wasn't about to let that stop him from helping in any way he could. There was a war going on, there were much more important things to worry about. Staring death in the face had a way of putting everything in perspective. Things that used to be a big deal, now seemed so small.
Dumbledore smiled. "I knew you would agree, Harry, sensible as you are. I must say, it took much less effort to acquire your approval."
Harry smiled at that, too. That did not surprise him in the least.
"Well, Harry," observed Dumbledore, "this has certainly been a busy year for you, to put it mildly."
Giving a small laugh, Harry answered, "It's been a hectic year for all of us. I don't think I know how to have a quiet year at Hogwarts."
"No, indeed," said Dumbledore, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.
"I don't suppose things will be getting any quieter soon."
And with that, the light atmosphere vanished. Those moments never seemed to last anymore, as fleeting as smoke caught in a breeze. "No, unfortunately they will not," agreed Dumbledore. The older man's gaze intensified. "This is just the beginning."
. *** .
"You said you'd do what?" Ron stared at his friend in wide-eyed disbelief.
After his meeting with Dumbledore, Harry joined his friends at the Great Hall for a late breakfast, or 'brunch' as Ron called it. Hermione, however, was nowhere to be seen, which concerned Harry.
"It's only for the summer, Ron," Harry explained calmly. "What was I supposed do? Say 'no'?"
"And keep your voice down," chided Ginny. "We don't need all of Hogwarts to hear us."
"I know that," Ron hissed at his younger sister defensively, but leaning in and continuing more quietly, nonetheless. Turning his attention back to Harry, he said, "I mean, I get it—why Dumbledore's asked you, but… spending the whole summer with Snape?" Ron shivered as if he were asked to go kiss the Giant Squid. Harry had to laugh at his antics.
"Grimmauld Place is a big place," Harry responded, making sure to keep his voice down so no one else would hear, despite also making use of the Muffliato spell that had been invented by the man in question. "We can stay out of each other's way when we need to. And it will be good for me to be able to keep practicing Legilimency and stuff."
"Yeah, I s'pose that's true," admitted Ron through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "Still, I don't envy you, Harry. You can always stay at our house if you're getting sick of all the Snape-iness."
"Or the Malfoys, if they decide to stay for the summer," Ginny chimed in with a smirk.
"Oh, god. I really don't envy you, Harry."
"Don't worry, I've survived worse."
"I'm not so sure about that, mate."
Harry laughed again. He couldn't remember the last time he engaged in light banter like this. It felt good after all of the heavy sorrow that consumed all of their thoughts and feelings. It wouldn't last, he knew, but he wanted to enjoy and appreciate moments like these.
"So what is going on with the Malfoys anyways?"
"They're staying at the Manor for now. With… what happened… there's really no need for them to stay at Headquarters anymore. Though, it might be convenient to have Lucius under Snape's thumb."
"Or nose, more like," Ron muttered. "Well, it's like I said," he continued more loudly, "You know where you can go if it all becomes too much. No one would object even if you stayed the whole summer, in fact, everyone would love it. You know my mum will want to know you're being well-fed."
Harry gave a noncommittal shrug. One thing he knew for certain was that he would not be staying at the Burrow for extended periods of time. The last thing he wanted to do was put the Weasleys in more danger. And besides, Harry would have to get really serious about studying Legilimency if he wanted to beat Voldemort, once and for all.
A flurry of wings interrupted their meal. The owl post was here. Harry grabbed a hold of the latest Daily Prophet, to read what it had to say about the recent attack.
The lengthy list of names under the heading 'In Memoriam' made Harry's stomach clench. He was used to reading about deaths in the newspaper, but never so many at once. Twenty-six, Harry thought as he counted the names, twenty-six people perished in the attack. Twenty-six people dead because of Voldemort. Yes, hundreds were saved, but there was so much unnecessary loss of life. Most were innocent villagers.
Jennifer Ennis. Robert Windsor. Giles and Aimee Hill. Paul Snodgrass. Elliot, Carolyn, Cadence and Beckett Smith — an entire family… So many people had died. Harry was overcome with a profound sense of loss as he continued reading, leaving him to wonder, not for the first time and certainly not the last, how many more lives would be claimed by this war.
A feeling of dread filled Harry when he read one woman's name in particular. Rebecca Stoddard, 36, is survived by her four year-old son, Alistair. Surely, that must be the boy whose mother Harry had failed to save. For the first time since the battle, Harry reflected on what happened during the battle. Until now, he had been too preoccupied with the cleanup efforts, the search for any people left behind, his conversation with Dumbledore…
Now that he had a moment to reflect, a great emptiness filled his heart. He looked around the Great Hall. It was noticeably less crowded. Some had been taken home by their parents. Nine other students who had fought alongside Harry had been injured. Through some stroke of luck, none of them had been killed. But Lavender had been bitten by Greyback. From what he had heard, Terry Boot might have to have his leg amputated. Others had family who had perished in the attack. They were very fortunate indeed not to have any fatalities amongst the student population. The same could not be said of any other group involved.
Four Aurors had been killed as well as a member of the Order, Sturgis Podmore. He had just recently been released from Azkaban. Harry figured that Sturgis had been weakened from his stint in that dark, lifeless fortress full of soul-sucking dementors. Sturgis had always been kind to him. It was such a shame, really, that Harry hadn't tried to get to know him better… and now he was gone.
Harry's feet moved of their own accord as he exited the Great Hall. He thought of the students that fought alongside him at Hogsmeade. He was very thankful for their contribution. Without it, there would have undoubtedly been more casualties. Stepping into the Hospital Wing, he spoke briefly with Madame Pomfrey, where she promptly handed him a list of names: Bennett, Emily; Boot, Terry; Brocklehurst, Mandy; Brown, Lavender; Caruso, Luca; Fischer, Leanne; MacMillan, Ernie; Patil, Parvarti; Zeller, Crispin.
All of them had been injured in some capacity— some had already been discharged, while others remained. But two names in particular caught his attention. Boot, Terry and Brown, Lavender.
With a heavy sigh, Harry swept aside the partition to the patients' room. It was a cheerless sight. Students were spread out on beds, many of them either too weak or too hurt to move under their own power. He walked around, visiting each of the students and thanking them for all of their help. Cho was there, running around like a woman possessed as she assisted a very busy Madame Pomfrey.
Padma, visiting her sister, gave him a sad smile as he walked by. Despite losing a leg, Terry seemed to be in high spirits, cracking jokes and making all of his friends laugh as they kept him company. Ernie gave Harry a terse nod; he had broken an arm but was now healed and getting ready to leave. Finally, Harry stopped at Lavender's bed. She was asleep, no doubt with the aid of a Sleeping Potion. Bandages covered most of her torso.
Harry again felt that sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. Harry had never been entirely fond of Lavender, it was true, but that did not stop him from feeling horrible about her current condition. It was an affliction she should not have to deal with. He thought of the stress and unfair limitations it placed on Remus and knew that the event would change her life forever.
She should be worrying about gossip, fashion and boys as she was wont to do… not bloody wars and living life as a werewolf. Even if the rest of them came out of this alive, which Harry unfortunately knew they wouldn't, they would be forever changed—all innocence lost, and childhood nothing more than a wistful dream of what could have been.
"It's terrible, isn't it?" Harry was startled out of his thoughts by a soft voice, but in the quiet stillness, it seemed to echo loudly through the room.
Harry shook his head in agreement. "I have a feeling it's only going to get worse before the war is over."
Cho sat down next to him in a visitor's chair. "I don't know her very well, but I can only imagine what she's going through. Seeing students and teachers get hurt like this… it's terrifying, but it only makes me want to fight harder so that we can finally end this war."
Harry looked over at Cho. She looked exhausted. They were all battling fatigue, but no doubt, she had been up at all hours of the night, assisting Madame Pomfrey in caring for the injured and the wounded. "You did well," he observed. "I'm glad we had someone out there who knows about Healing," Harry told her honestly.
She hesitated before stating, "It's… difficult—watching all of that trauma unfold and all of the suffering. But it's only going to continue. And if I can help, it's worth it. It's worth all of the fear and the nightmares if I can help save people, even just one person. That's why I want to become a Healer. I can fix things, instead of just destroying them."
Deeply moved, Harry put comforting a hand on Cho's arm. "Good for you, Cho. You'll become a great Healer, I know it." Cho gave him a grateful look. "And I get them, too, you know… the nightmares." He wanted to let her know that she was not alone.
"Oh, Harry," Cho said at this, as her eyes softened in sympathy, "I could never understand how difficult everything must be for you. But if anyone can come out of it stronger, it's you."
Now, it was Harry's turn to be grateful. "Thanks, Cho."
She looked at all of the wounded students with those same sad eyes, then back at Lavender. "She almost didn't make it," she said so quietly, Harry almost didn't catch it. "She'll have those scars forever, and because it took place under the full moon, she'll have to transform every month."
That sinking feeling in his gut would just not go away. "Well, you did everything you could for her. There was nothing else anyone could have done. You helped save her life. No matter how you look at it, that's a gift."
Cho nodded. Harry leaned in a pulled her into an embrace. "We'll all get through this," he whispered into her hair, hoping beyond hope that his words would prove true. The close contact felt nothing like when they were dating, but somehow, more profound. He felt no attraction, but something deeper, a kinship that only those who fought in combat alongside one another — faced death together — would understand.
When she pulled away she gave him a small smile, both of them feeling more reassured from the human contact.
"You should get some rest at some point, you know," Harry pointed out. "You'll be no good to Madame Pomfrey running on no sleep."
"Hmph. That is precisely what I was telling her earlier, but she wouldn't have it," said the mediwitch in question, making her entrance into the patients' room.
Harry felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Even under great duress, Madame Pomfrey's mother-hen attitude was persistent.
"I will soon," she promised. "I swear," Cho added upon seeing the stern looks on both Harry's and Madame Pomfrey's faces.
Harry and Cho bade their goodbyes and he approached the bed on the far corner. There lay the only non-student patient in the entire Hospital Wing. He looked a great deal better than before.
"Hello, Harry, my lad. I heard about the battle, a terrible thing." The congenial old man shook his head in disbelief. "So many young folk, hurt. And that poor girl with the werewolf… I am just glad that no students were killed."
"Hello, Mr. Edwards. I was relieved to hear you made it out alright. How are you holding up?"
"Oh, no, Clark will do just fine, lad." Harry nodded his understanding. "And I am doing much better now, much thanks to you," he said, inclining his head towards Harry.
"Hello, Asher," said Harry, turning to the young man sitting by his uncle's bedside.
"Hey, there, Harry. I'm glad you and your friends are okay."
"Yeah, me, too." That was an understatement.
"Madame Pomfrey tells us my uncle'll be out of here in no time. She just wants to make sure he gets his weight and strength up a bit with the help of these Nourishment potions, first. We figured it was best not to move him to St. Mungo's. No need, and it was more trouble than in it was worth. Besides, Dumbledore said it would be safer here." Despite what had happened, Harry had to agree with that. "Fortunately, most of his injuries were minor and able to be fixed relatively easily. But he'll have some lasting problems with his right knee."
"Oh, that knee was always a bother, anyhow. I am lucky to escape mostly unscathed."
Yes, it was lucky, indeed. Especially seeing as how Clark had to contend with a woman named Bellatrix Lestrange. The last time Harry had seen the older man, he was rather worse for wear.
Harry spoke with the two men for a couple moments more. He learned that Asher would be staying with his Uncle to care for him as he made his recovery. ('The professors at the university are very understanding,' he reassured Harry. His teachers were informed that his uncle had suffered a stroke.)
"Well, thanks again for everything, Harry. I'm sure you're very busy. But if you ever have a moment and are around London, give us a visit won't you?" They swapped contact information, before Harry had to leave the oppressively sterile atmosphere of the Hospital Wing before it drove him to madness.
Many students expected classes and exams to be canceled, but in an act of defiance, Dumbledore explained to them that, no, life must go on. They would allow them a week more for studies, but there would be no cancellations. For those who remained, they had no choice but to continue. Because to cower in fear and stop living was to let Voldemort win.
This was not like during the Chamber of Secrets incident when being outside the dormitories was a danger. They were no less safe in a classroom than in the common room [1]. Of course, exceptions were made for those who were stricken by grief and needed to be by their family's side.
But it was impossible to find normalcy in anything. The end of the year feast was supposed to be a time for festivity. In a normal year, they would be celebrating yet another Gryffindor victory for the Quidditch Cup and House Cup. Dumbledore briefly mentioned this development, yet the reminder of what had been lost never left, and Harry felt no joy in it.
Notably absent from every day proceedings was Slughorn. Snape was pulling double-duty, teaching both Defense and Potions. Sometimes Dumbledore had to step in and substitute for Snape in Defense class. It was eerily quiet during Potions lessons. Even Snape was much subdued and did not criticize students with as much venom as was customary.
In a way, Harry missed Slughorn's jovial banter. Perhaps, it was just because it was a reminder that he had been lost in the fight against Voldemort. Or, it could be the fact that a professor had been claimed by the war — a stark reminder to the students that no one was safe. Everyone seemed on edge and there was a skittish quality to their movements and behavior.
Professor Slughorn's funeral would take place tomorrow morning before the Hogwarts Express left for London. The year had flown by, Harry thought, now roaming the corridors — it seemed like just last week that he had disembarked the train for the start of the school year — yet at the same time, the time when he was worrying about what Draco was up to in the Room of Requirement seemed like a lifetime ago. And he felt as if he had aged much more than a year.
Harry sensed someone's presence and looked up, brought out of his musings, to find Severus Snape standing motionlessly in front of him. Harry got the distinct impression that Snape had been looking for him.
"Professor?" Harry asked, the uncertainty apparent in his voice.
Snape was silent for a moment before speaking. "If you might accompany me to my office, Mr. Potter, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you."
"Of course," answered Harry without hesitation, though he was unsure what the Death-Eater-turned-spy wanted with him.
Harry followed Snape as he swept off down the corridor. As he entered the room, Snape indicated that he should sit down. Harry did as requested and waited for his professor to speak. However, the man simply stared at him for a time. Harry began to grow uncomfortable under his professor's intense scrutiny.
"Yes, sir?" he finally prompted, with some hesitation.
Snape paused for another moment before saying, "I have heard some interesting rumors out of the Death Eater camp."
"Oh yeah?" Harry asked, interested. "What's that?"
"It had to do with you."
That was not an answer Harry was expecting. What did the Death Eaters want with him that he didn't already know?
"Rumor has it," Snape continued, "that the Boy-Who-Lived is, in fact, a practitioner of Dark magic."
"Dark magic?" Harry asked at a loss. "Me?"
"Yes. It is a spell you are familiar with, though the first time, you did not know of its effects. Now, however, you cannot claim ignorance."
Suddenly, it all came rushing back to him. But he played coy and said nothing. He knew it wouldn't work on Snape, but he tried to stall for time in order to come up with a suitable explanation. Clearly, Snape did not appreciate this tactic and decided to take an even more direct approach, giving Harry no room to deflect.
"Interestingly enough, it concerned a spell I invented."
Harry nervously fussed with the hem of his robes, at first averting his eyes and refusing to meet his professor's gaze. "Oh, is that right?"
Piercing eyes met Harry's own when he finally chanced a glance.
"It is indeed."
Snape again fell silent as he seemed to assess Harry. It was unnerving.
Harry felt compelled to explain himself, but was also afraid to speak. What would he even say? He had been caught red-handed.
Snape's eyes narrowed as the silence continued. "Explain yourself," he demanded, his tone firm and unforgiving.
"I…" Harry faltered, the words dying on his lips. He looked down in shame, feeling his skin flush slightly.
Sensing his remorse, Snape's eyes softened ever so slightly and he took on an expression Harry couldn't quite place. "Why did you do this?" he asked, almost gently.
And then Harry was able to place what he had been unable to until now. That look. It wasn't quite disappointment. No, it was concern; but not the kind Harry was accustomed to. It reminded him vaguely of the time he had first spoken Parseltongue in public.
"I don't know."
Clearly, Snape did not find this to be an adequate explanation; the hard edge returned to his eyes.
"I didn't mean to," Harry hastened to explain before Snape could reprimand him again. "It was — I was just in a tight spot, that's all. There was a Death Eater who had me cornered. It was either him or the mountain troll." At this, Snape lifted an eyebrow.
Harry continued, "And I had a little boy with me. His mother had just been killed. It was the first spell that came to mind. I just reacted."
"I find it curious, then, that that was the spell your mind immediately leapt to. You know of its effects." Again, those obsidian orbs bore into him. There was no need to voice aloud what they were both thinking of. Draco. Harry winced at the memory.
Honestly, Snape was getting worked up over nothing. They had much bigger things to worry about. No, Harry shouldn't have done it, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And in his defense, he had had little time to react. And it wasn't as if the guy didn't deserve it. This was a Death Eater they were talking about, and he had just killed an innocent woman. A mother. Yet Snape was making, he, Harry out to be the bad guy?
"What was I supposed to do? I just reacted, I didn't have time to think it over! This man had just killed a boy's mother. I saw it with my own eyes!"
But this too seemed to be the wrong thing to say. "Then you retaliated out of anger!" Snape shouted, growing angry himself.
"You made the spell!" argued Harry, changing tack. What right did this man have to be so cross with him? What a hypocrite!
"I am not proud of who I was back then."
"So what, you think I'm going to become a Death Eater?" asked Harry sardonically.
"Of course not," Snape spat, "but even people on the side of the Light can become corrupted."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I've been down that path. It does not happen suddenly, it is a slow and steady descent. You may not even notice it at first.
"I know you would never become a Death Eater, but don't make the same mistakes I did. Do not even take the first steps. You start allowing exceptions, and more will follow until any semblance of principle is disintegrated. I know from experience the corrosive seduction of Dark magic. You can lose yourself. It does not suit you, Mr. Potter."
After a moment's hesitation, Snape said softly, "I am trying to help you."
And with those last words, which Harry knew to be true, he felt his earlier irritation dissipate.
Now that Snape had Harry's attention and had sufficiently cowed him into recognizing the seriousness of his actions, he continued to make his point.
"You must keep your temper in check. If not, it will only lead to more poor decisions. Think about how it looks if you are caught using Dark magic? You are supposed to represent the side of the Light. What message does that send – to both enemy and ally alike?"
The Chosen One and the Savior of the Wizarding World – using Dark magic… No, Harry supposed that was not an ideal situation. Harry knew it was selfish, but he wished he'd never heard of the prophecy, never had to deal with the weight of being The-Boy-Who-Lived…
"The man you used the spell against was found bleeding at the scene by Rodolphus Lestrange, who subsequently requested my presence to tend to the man's wounds," Snape went on to explain. "And I had no choice but to heal him, lest I come under the suspicion of the Dark Lord. The man might have died, had I not intervened."
Some of Harry's earlier anger returned. "Good," he muttered under his breath, but not so quietly that Snape didn't catch it. Snape, however, chose to ignore this comment but for a slight quirk of the brow.
"I, of course, immediately recognized the spell-work… as did the other Death Eaters. It became something of a signature of mine during my youth," Snape noted with self-loathing. "Naturally, they along with the Dark Lord questioned the circumstances and my possible role in them."
Harry felt sick to his stomach. What if he had gotten his professor killed through his carelessness?
"The Dark Lord perceived no lie in me when I denied casting the curse. Quite predictable really, seeing how no Occlumency was necessary in this instance. But he was intrigued. If it was not me, then who could it have possibly been? He wished to uncover the identity of this mysterious witch or wizard. Was it a member of the Order? Or possibly even a gifted student, one that he might recruit to his cause?"
Harry's eyes widened at the thought.
"Many of the Death Eaters did not believe me. They could not fathom that I had not been involved in some way."
Led by Bellatrix, no doubt, Harry guessed.
"But fortune was kind to me; the man regained consciousness soon after healing to clear my name as it were. Imagine the Dark Lord's surprise and my own chagrin when the man identified you as the culprit."
I don't really want to imagine that, thought Harry.
"I had my own suspicions, of course, but had hoped there was some other explanation. As you might expect, the other Death Eaters thought he had sustained a severe injury to the head and did not believe he could possibly be in the right state of mind. Because otherwise, that would mean that everything they believed about the famous Harry Potter — the Boy-Who-Lived, Dumbledore's protégé, the Savior of the Light — was in fact a lie."
It was the first time Snape had used any of those titles without a sliver of sarcasm. Harry had no interest in Dark magic, despite what Snape thought. There was only one other time he had attempted it. He thought back to that night at the Ministry when he tried to use the Cruciatus curse on Bellatrix Lestrange. But she had just killed Sirius. That was different.
"But the Dark Lord perused the man's memories and confirmed that, indeed, it had been you… I received many inquiries as to why I would ever teach you such a thing."
"What did you tell them?" he asked.
"The truth, more or less," Snape said, "that you had gotten a hold of my old potions book by accident. However, I told them you had no clue as to my identity, nor the fact that I had invented the spell or what it did – that it was most likely your first time using the spell." Guilt gnawed at Harry's sides. "For I assured them, that the Golden Boy was surely too pure to willingly use such a curse on anyone," Snape finished acidly.
If there was a good response to that, Harry didn't know what it was. It had been a reckless moment in the heat of passion. It made his blood boil to think about the murder of innocent people, especially parents and their young children.
"I have watched you during our Occlumency lessons; I know you can control your emotions."
Harry at least had the sense to be ashamed. "I know. I'll do better in the future."
Obsidian met emerald. "See to it that you do."
. *** .
The next morning, Harry made his way down to the Great Hall. He figured he should have some breakfast before the funeral, as students would be departing aboard the Hogwarts Express immediately following the program. Taking the seat next to Ron, he asked, "Where's Hermione?"
Upon reaching the Great Hall, he had noticed her absence straightaway. He had barely seen her at all yesterday, so he was beginning to get more anxious.
Ron shrugged in response. "I don't know, Ginny said she hasn't seen her this morning… I'm worried about her, Harry."
So was he. He quickly tucked in to his eggs and bacon, then wrapped some toast in a napkin.
"I'll go find her," he said in response to Ron's curious look.
Ron nodded, but then stopped Harry before he could leave. "Harry…" he hesitated.
Harry turned to look his friend in the eyes. "Yes?"
"You saw Lavender, didn't you?"
It wasn't so much a question as a statement of fact. The red-head knew he had visited the Hospital Wing this morning.
"Yes, I did," Harry answered quietly.
"How is she?" Ron asked with some trepidation.
"She'll live," said Harry after a moment. "But she'll have to transform every month, and her injuries were pretty severe." Ron grimaced.
"You should give her a visit," suggested Harry. "I'm not sure if she's awake, but…"
Ron nodded his head. "I think I will. I mean, I know things didn't work out between us, but that doesn't mean…" Then he paused, struggling to find the words.
Harry placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know."
Walking up the moving staircases, Harry had an inkling of where Hermione might be. For where else would his knowledge-seeking friend find sanctuary?
As he entered the library, he made sure to hide his napkin full of toast from Madam Pince's sharp gaze. He made his way through a myriad cases and stacks of books, and there she was. As expected, Hermione was in her usual spot, at the back of the library in her secluded corner.
Harry supposed it was to distract herself, by burying her head into a book. But usually in times like these, all three of them liked to stick together. As years went by, this only strengthened, and gradually became the norm. He didn't want that to change. It was a long time ago that she went to books for comfort over her best friends.
As he approached, he called her name softly, so as not to startle her. But so engrossed was she in her book, that she didn't notice Harry until he was right in front of her, practically yelling.
"Hermione!"
Her head snapped up in alarm, eyes frantically searching about before settling on Harry.
Harry felt slightly guilty, but it was the only thing he could do to get her attention short of grabbing her and shaking her.
"Oh, Harry. Hi."
"I've been calling your name for the past ten seconds."
This seemed to surprise Hermione. "You have?"
"Yeah."
Hermione internally scolded herself for losing awareness of her surroundings so easily, even as her thoughts were a thousand miles away.
"I thought you might like to eat something," he said, handing her the impromptu breakfast.
"Thanks, Harry," she said gratefully, though she made no move to reach for the food.
He lifted up the book's front cover to see what had so captivated his friend. "Must be one hell of a book."
His heart froze when he read the title.
Creatures Most Foul: A History of the Dementors and Their Rise to Prominence.
He knew exactly what she was looking for.
"Hermione…" Harry began softly.
"I know," Hermione interjected before Harry could go any further. "I know what you're thinking, Harry. And I know that there's almost no chance, but it can't hurt to look, can it?"
Her anguish and distress was palpable, but tinged with the slightest ounce of hope.
Harry was faced with an impossible dilemma: Offer words of comfort, or force her to face the truth? As he looked into the eyes of his best friend, he felt his own anguish rise.
"I know you, Hermione. You've probably already read all there is to know. You know the odds better than I do."
"I know," she repeated. "I understand that there's almost certainly nothing I can do, but a part of me just… doesn't want to let go just yet," she whispered the last part so quietly, Harry struggled to hear her.
Well, Harry knew what that felt like. Tears clung to corners of Hermione's eyes and threatened to spill over. He hated seeing her like this. The pangs of sorrow he was feeling in his chest were becoming invasively familiar.
"It doesn't really get any easier, but over time, I suppose you sort of get better. The sharp pain becomes a dull ache and you start to move on with life."
The compassion for him reflecting in those amber eyes, even as she was immersed in her own grief, was transparent. "Oh, Harry." Hermione reached across to lay her hand atop of his; he reached out to hold it. "How? How did learn to live with it?"
He had no perfect answer. In truth, there wasn't one.
"I don't know. I guess… You'll go through a range of emotions: denial, guilt, anger, despair… The pain is hardest at first, and it'll come unexpectedly in bouts after that, but… I'm here for you. We all are. We'll help you get through it."
Hermione gave him a small, sad smile and squeezed his hand. "I know that."
"But eventually," continued Harry, "you begin to live again. We've got no choice, really. Time passes, and though it doesn't heal the hole in your heart — that will always remain — you can start to look back in fondness, instead of just sorrow. And focus on the good memories and how lucky you were to share in them, instead of only what was lost."
And it was true. When Harry thought of Sirius now, it brought a fond smile to his face, not sadness alone.
"It's just… He had only started to turn his life around. He had so much to live for. And maybe if I hadn't interfered, he wouldn't have become a spy, and he'd still be alive."
"Hermione," Harry said firmly. "It's not your fault and you know it. He made a choice. If it weren't for you, he'd probably be a Death Eater for good. What kind of life is that?"
He knew in his heart that it'd be no good. For he hadn't listened to anyone when he blamed himself, at least not at first, had he? Even now, he still felt small stirrings of guilt. But he wished for nothing more than to spare Hermione the same pain.
"Listen to me, Hermione," said Harry, looking into her eyes, trying to force her to understood through sheer force of will, "You were the best thing that happened to him. Never doubt that."
She sniffed and the tears that clung to her lids finally fell. Harry reached out to wipe them away.
They sat in silence for a long moment, taking comfort and strength in one another's presence.
And then, "I want to go see him," she said in a shaky voice.
Harry thought back to what Ron had said, and how strongly his other friend had felt about it. "I don't know if –"
"I know it will be difficult, but I feel this is something I have to do," she explained, her voice getting stronger. "If I see him, maybe it will help me to find closure. Move on."
Harry wouldn't deny her what she wanted. He had no right. This was clearly something she felt she needed to do.
"I can go with you," he offered, "if you want. Only if you want me to, though."
In her eyes, he could detect the gratitude and a trace of relief. "Thank you, Harry. I think it will be better if you're there with me."
They stood up to leave; the funeral was to start in a half hour or so.
Hermione approached Harry and wrapped him in a tight hug. Harry simply held her as she shed all the tears she had to cry. Without a word, they left the library, hand-in-hand.
They walked the path down to the castle grounds, where the funeral would be held. Walking at a meandering pace around the lake, Harry held one arm around Hermione, and with the other, he threw pieces of toast out to the birds. She hadn't the appetite, and though Harry wished she would eat something, he could understand what she was going through.
Gradually, the other students began to fill in the empty seats. A handsome oak casket sat near the lake, with rows of chairs placed before it. Flags of black and green and silver dotted the area along with various flowers and plants.
The hum of the Ministry official giving his eulogy barely registered with Harry. A mixture of guilt and irritation coursed through him as he listened. Guilt for not paying much attention, and annoyance because the Ministry had done little to help and had only, in Harry's opinion, empty words to offer.
Arrows flew over the closed casket; the centaurs came to pay their respects, as well as the Merpeople from the bottom of the lake. All coming to lament the loss of a member of Hogwarts.
Finally, Dumbledore stood to speak. He shared his own personal stories and memories of the man. Harry hadn't known too much about Slughorn, other than that he was a capable wizard who usually looked out for himself. Jovial, almost to the point of being exuberant. But, in the end, he had died to protect and save the students of Hogwarts.
Harry thought back to his last conversation with Slughorn.
"Think about my mother. What would she have done?"
"I'm-I'm not brave like your mother."
"You have to try."
Harry closed his eyes. Had those words also been echoing in Slughorn's mind when he sacrificed his own life?
The Headmaster encouraged them all to cherish the time and memories they all shared with their loved ones. Not all was darkness. It just seemed that way, thought Harry, looking out at the glum faces of his fellow students. Twenty-six… these would not be the last lives claimed by war.
After the funeral ended, Harry was surprised to see Colin Creevy approaching him, with a look of utmost determination upon his face. Harry soon learned that the fifth-year Gryffindor was upset he had been left behind and therefore had been unable to participate in the Battle at Hogsmeade.
"I could have helped! Why didn't you let me fight?" Colin insisted.
"Don't rush it," Harry warned the younger wizard. "Trust me, you'll have plenty of opportunity in the future. You could have been killed out there."
"So, you mean I'm not good enough."
Looking at Colin's crestfallen face, Harry told him honestly, "I have to be sure you're ready. And I didn't accept most of the people who had not yet completed their OWLs, like you. Ginny and a few others are exceptions because they've already faced Death Eaters before."
Harry wished to impress upon him just how difficult it was to face real danger, but it was something you could not really understand until you'd done it.
Colin nodded his understanding, though still did not seem to be completely satisfied.
Although he could relate to Colin's frustration, Harry knew he had made the right decision. Of that, he was certain. It seemed like only yesterday Colin was the little boy who had misplaced an almost obsessive fascination in Harry, had idolized him. Now, that same boy was preparing to fight in a war. Times changed quickly.
Harry's feet drifted, almost unconsciously, to the tree where he knew his father once stood. It wasn't a fond memory, but he was secure in the knowledge that his father had changed for the better. He supposed he should have understood sooner, that if his father could change, then so could Malfoy. It wasn't the same, and yet it was. People could better themselves, and that gave him hope.
Harry caught a glimpse of Snape, before the man returned to the castle now that the program was finished. They shared a brief glance, and Harry gave a slight nod of his head. After all, he could hardly shout, "See you at Headquarters!" He couldn't be sure, but he thought Snape returned the gesture.
Looking over to where Hermione now stood, he saw that she was cradled in Ron's arms as he tried to console her. He also looked a bit shaken up, and Harry assumed he had gone to the Hospital Wing to see Lavender. Ginny was right next to them, speaking to Neville and Cho. The ache in his heart still afflicted him whenever he saw her, but it was more muted now than it was before. The temptation to seek comfort in her was also still there, but not the gravitational pull it used to be.
Hearing soft footsteps approaching, he turned to see to whom they belonged. Luna Lovegood. The girl who always seemed to make his heart feel lighter and put him more at ease; sometimes he wondered if she understood people better than they did themselves, especially him.
"Hello, Harry." Her voice was less dreamy. It lost some of that quality when she was more serious or sad, he noticed.
"Hi, Luna. How are you holding up?"
She left the question unanswered. "How are you feeling?"
The automatic reply of "fine" died on his lips as she looked at him. She truly wanted to know.
"I don't know, honestly. Everything happened so fast."
He knew he was being vague, but Luna nodded, seeming to understand.
"It doesn't seem real, that one of our professors…" Here, he looked over to the place where he knew Slughorn now lay, buried under the earth. "I don't think it's really hit me yet."
"It is quite terrifying. Bad things are happening all of the time, but when it's home like Hogwarts, it just feels… different."
Now it was Harry's turn to nod. Luna was exactly right. Hogwarts was home. More than Grimmauld Place, even more than the Burrow, and certainly more than the Dursleys'. The attack felt more personal. Even though Hogwarts itself was not attacked, the battle was waged against its students… its teachers. The war just became real for many people.
"You did well, though, Harry," Luna's mystical voice broke through his thoughts.
He looked at her with question in his eyes, which prompted her to elaborate.
"Leading us," she explained. "We all came through, in the end. And we were able to help save many lives. We couldn't have done that without you. You should be proud. Your parents would be proud."
Harry couldn't explain why, but her last comment deeply moved him. "I couldn't have done anything without all of you," he said, meaning every word, though his throat was tight. "Tonks said you all performed admirably." In fact, all of the Order members and professors had been pleased with the students' performance. Kingsley had been impressed by Neville's progression in particular.
"We had a good teacher," Luna replied, giving Harry a soft smile – one that he returned.
"You'll have to visit during the summer." Now that he had his own place, away from the Dursleys, he could invite over anyone he wanted. This new freedom was something Harry would try to take advantage of.
"That would be nice," agreed Luna.
A trumpeting coo interrupted them before either could say anything more.
Thestrals. Three of them had migrated over to the collection of gatherers, specifically to Luna and himself. The small one trotted over to Luna, whilst what Harry assumed must be the mother nuzzled at his hand. He stroked the skeletal, horse-like creature along its jaw. She hummed in approval.
Now, other thestrals were gathering around the tree. Harry wondered if the death and all of the grief had garnered their attention.
He heard a gasp from somewhere behind him. Many of the bystanders were openly gaping and pointing at the gaggle of winged-beasts; some looked awed, while others looked disconcerted. With a jolt, he realized that a sizable portion of the attendants gathered there could now see the thestrals. By the end, would everyone who was left be able to see them, too?
Luna, still keeping a hand on the thestral calf, looked up at him with those round blue eyes of hers.
"I just wonder how many more of these we'll have," Harry said, voicing aloud his thoughts, "before the end."
. *** .
Having said their goodbyes, Harry and Hermione made their way to the front gate. Rather than taking the train, they would be Apparating directly to St. Mungo's. Ron decided he would ride the Hogwarts Express with Ginny, understandably uncomfortable with the thought of visiting a soulless Malfoy.
It didn't seem right, breaking tradition and splitting up the trio. But it was for the best, and Harry still had Hermione with him.
Giving Hogwarts one last look, he linked arms with Hermione and they were pulled into that tight vacuum of time and space, before landing at the front of the magical hospital.
Walking through the halls of St. Mungo's, Harry was hit with a sense of déjà vu. Although the venue was different, the pristine whiteness and coldness of the walls reminded him starkly of the Hospital Wing. More than that, was the unmistakable air of gloom that hung over the place.
The receptionist quietly told them what room Draco was staying in and gave them directions to its location when they approached the front desk.
Harry looked over and saw his friend's face, as pale as a white sheet, etched with anxiety, dread, fear, grief… He reached over to grasp her hand in his, lending whatever strength and support he could give. She squeezed back, binding his in a vice grip.
They rounded the corner and walked through the entryway, and Hermione's heart beat faster when she caught sight of a shock of blond hair.
"Draco?"
Never before had Harry heard Hermione's voice so fearful nor so timid.
This was the first time Harry had seen Draco since that fateful day. It was surreal to see the Slytherin physically right there in front of them, knowing what had happened. You'd be better off dead, Harry's own words to Dudley rang in his head like a mantra.
There was no response.
Harry looked closely at Draco Malfoy, his once enemy, his archrival, and eventual unlikely ally… All of the idiosyncrasies and complexities that made up Draco Malfoy were gone. If Harry were to try and describe it, the closest he could come was to compare it to a coma, except he was awake — awake but unresponsive. But he wasn't just lost or unconscious; like Ron said, there was nothing there at all.
Draco simply stared ahead, barely blinking, heeding neither noise nor movement. A picture of the ocean shore sat on the opposite wall, but Harry suspected it was there only to improve the melancholy atmosphere. The wall could have been blank for all Draco cared in his current state.
They both sat in the chairs that had been placed next to the bed, chairs Harry assumed Malfoy's parents occupied from time to time. Hermione reached out and gently took Draco by the hand; silent tears streaked down her face.
As Hermione looked upon the blank face of the sole Malfoy heir, she grieved for the boy who had called her 'Mudblood' countless times over the years, the boy who had both made her cry and drove her mad, the boy who had managed to get on her nerves and under her skin unlike anyone else… the boy whom she had come to care for so much.
Draco Malfoy had transformed from a glorified bully into a fighter for the resistance against Voldemort. She had watched him change and grow as a person in front of her very eyes. She grieved for the boy she had slowly but surely grew to have feelings for.
She didn't want to analyze those feelings too closely, for now they meant nothing. They were now for a person who could never have any capacity to reciprocate any emotion whatsoever. She had always feared for his safety, but this was the worst thing imaginable that could have possibly happened. He was still there, but not really… not the parts that mattered most.
Harry turned away, whether because he felt like he was intruding or because it made him uncomfortable — or some combination of both. But he knew from personal experience that there was nothing he could do or say to alleviate her despair, other than to just be there for her.
"Why does it hurt so much?" she cried. "Will it ever go away? How could it?" [2].
What could he possibly say to that? He could only imagine how he would feel if it had been Ginny instead. There were no words, so he simply pulled her into a tight embrace.
He thought back to what Dumbledore had said, about a magic so strong that it could break the immobilization spell that had been cast by the Death Eater. The potential of what could have been no doubt haunted his best friend. And Draco… it seemed like a cruel, cosmic punishment for him to finally do the right thing, only to meet the fate of a Dementor's Kiss. They all deserved better.
It was undeniably a painful experience, Harry thought as they pulled apart. But with this, he hoped that it would give Hermione some closure.
After some time, she slowly stood up, and Harry followed suit; any time she felt it was right to leave was fine by him. It was her call. Hermione stood at Draco's bedside for a moment more, reaching out her fingers to tenderly stroke his hair, some of which had fallen in front of his face. She leaned down to press a soft kiss to his left cheek.
"Goodbye, Draco," she whispered. Finally releasing his hand, she turned to leave.
Before Harry did the same, he noticed something odd. As Hermione let go of Draco's hand, his arm — his left — shifted slightly. His forearm, where Harry knew the Dark Mark to once be, was bare. As if it had never been touched. Wasn't that impossible? As far as Harry knew, the mark was permanent.
He opened his mouth to remark on this observation, but thought better of it. Now was not the time.
By the time Harry did turn around, it was to see none other than Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.
Narcissa, of course, had entered the room in time to see the curly-haired young woman, and the care and affection with which the Muggleborn girl treated her one and only son. She could feel her own eyes glisten with moisture. It was clear to her that this girl had deeply cared for him. If nothing else, it was nice to know Draco had had that in his life.
The two women shared a knowing glance.
No words were spoken, but Harry sensed an understanding between the two of them.
There was no hostility in the room, not even from Lucius. Only shared sorrow.
. *** .
Once again, sucked through the vacuum of Apparition, Harry and Hermione landed at foot of Grimmauld Place. They embraced one last time, muttered subdued farewells, and just like that, with a pop, Hermione was gone.
Turning to face the menacing structure that was used to be his godfather's, Harry wondered if it would ever truly feel like home.
Perhaps it could more than the Dursleys' ever did. His extended family was still in the home Dumbledore had provided them. Only after the defeat of Voldemort (or if I am killed, Harry thought with no small amount of black humor) would it be safe for them to return to Privet Drive.
Unfortunately, Harry would have to pay his childhood home a visit in the near future. Some of his belongings were still housed there, as he had left rather hastily and unexpectedly this past summer, leaving him with too little time to gather everything he possessed. He very much doubted that the Dursleys had been kind enough to collect them for him. And even if they had, he was sure they would have sent them along, if nothing else, to be rid of the potentially magical items or anything to do with him. Harry supposed he could call and check in with them; Dumbledore had left a number and address. However, he was rather reluctant to do so, for which no one would blame him.
In no rush to enter the dwelling, he instead took advantage of this quiet moment of solitude. He reached inside of his pants pocket, intending to grab the former Horcrux. But instead, he felt the coolness of smooth metal. It was the silver dog that had perhaps saved his life. He smiled. Even though he was gone, Sirius had still found a way to protect him.
Placing his godfather's ornament back into his pocket, he reached in again — this time, grasping the chain of the locket and pulling it out. Though handsome and obviously quite expensive, it seemed rather unremarkable now that it held no piece of Voldemort's soul.
Remembering the cry of the dementor and the ensuing attack on his senses, indeed, his entire being, Harry shuddered to think of the fates of those whose souls remained within the dementor. Suddenly, the words of the raven-haired Death Eater came back to him.
"You do not truly think you can win this war, do you?"
"This war will never end. There will always be those of us who will oppose you. You are fighting for a hopeless cause."
"Your efforts are futile, in the end. More innocent people will die, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. It is inevitable. You will lose those closest to you and everything that you hold dear."
Harry's fist clenched tightly around the empty locket. No, Harry thought. He was wrong. It mattered.
With a sigh he turned the handle, and opened the front door to what was now his house.
Snape stood in the entry hallway, facing him. By the looks of it — with his luggage resting at the bottom of the staircase and one brief bag still in hand — he had only just arrived. As always, the Potion Master's expression was unreadable; Harry still didn't know exactly how Snape felt about this whole situation… but one thing was certain: This was going to be an interesting summer.
***END CHAPTER***
Sequel – The Lost Souls of Shadow:
Harry has discovered the Realm of the Dead and is doing all he can to unlock the secrets to Voldemort's immortality, leading to an almost unhealthy obsession. But this mystical realm holds the key to victory. Tenuously forged relationships are put to the test, but they must fortify and hold steadfast for the side of the Light to have any hope of prevailing. Old and new must work together, which is far more easily said than done. As certain events unfold, everyone begins to realize that this war will impact more than the Wizarding world. It is no longer a simple matter of defeating Voldemort, the war becomes a fight for humanity as a whole.
Footnotes:
[1] I imagine that Hogwarts would allow for students with family members killed in the attack to leave school early if they so desired. As for O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examinations, I'm sure they could take a different version during the summer at the Ministry. There must be extenuating circumstances for a handful of students each year that would render them incapable of sitting for their end-of-year examinations. Perhaps, they even have some magical means of making sure that students do not relay information about the exams to the students who take it later. That would make a different version of the exam unnecessary. Anyways, just a thought.
[2] A slight wink and nod to the last Hobbit film.
A/N:
Whew! We're finally done! I must admit, I didn't think my story would be nearly this long. I underestimated my initial estimate of the final word count by about 100,000 words (just imagine a sheepish expression). Anyways, I thoroughly hope you have all enjoyed reading my first fanfic. I promise I won't abandon the story. I've put too much work into it to stop now. Keep your eyes open for more stories from me and eventually, the sequel, tentatively titled The Lost Souls of Shadow. Remember, constant vigilance!
Signing off,
fanster