Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Not me.
A/N: This was hard to write, and had I had to redo it probably ten times just to get it half-right. If I were a better writer, this would be much more emotional and eloquent, but I've done my best. Hopefully, it's all right. Sorry for those of you that hate when this happens in a story.
00000000000 Chapter 38: An End and a Beginning 000000000000000000
It felt as if he were falling, rushing through dark skies. He wasn't afraid; he'd already oriented himself and knew he was dreaming. Or having a vision, or whatever you wanted to call it. He wouldn't get hurt.
And, sure enough, he landed without any pain in deep, waving grass that rustled about his knees in the strong winds. Dark clouds were shadowing the night sky, threatening a great storm, but as of yet there was no rain or thunder.
He was much closer than he had ever been to the fortress, and he approached with obvious trepidation, fearful of the huge stone building. His dream felt odd—it was not quite normal, even for him, and he was feeling leery of the stone walls.
There was a brilliant flash of light. The storm and begun, and lightening was brightening the world every few moments.
He paused to look around, taking in the wind-whipped grass, the death eaters circling around the lone figure like a pack of dogs, and the dead girl. Lightening was crashing around him, somewhat muffled but still deafening, and suddenly rain spattered around him.
Last time, on holiday, he had had to touch the stones to see the real world again. He could feel a sense of foreboding build in his chest at the thought of touching the wall in front of him, but he was drawn to it. He reached out with one hand, forcing himself to step forwards and touch the cold stone.
When he put his hand flat against the stones for the first time, they were only cold and still. Apparently, he wasn't going to see anything outside of this place as he had hoped, so instead he pressed his other hand against them, feeling the thrum of power that was shivering in the stones. This place was well protected, filled with magic and almost…alive.
He relaxed slightly, relieved by the stones and their power, and started trailing along the wall, looking for an entrance. If he wasn't going to be pulled out of the vision by touching the fortress, then perhaps he'd have enough time to figure out how to get into it, or how to get to it in the real world.
He needed to get into the fortress. That was the whole point. Get in before Tom did. Make sure Tom didn't wield this place as some sort of awful weapon.
It hadn't been meant for that, though it was predisposed to such a purpose, and he wouldn't let it come to that.
He circled around to the left, keeping the fortress within arms reach, and scanned the horizon, looking for any sort of notable feature to the land.
A crack of lightening lit up the water raging below the fortress, and he searched it quickly. There was a small island just off the coastline, with what looked like a few scraggly trees upon it, but it probably wasn't large enough to be on any map.
The next flash of lightening gave him a moment to look at the coastline itself, the dark trees reaching to the very edge before turning into a rocky, dangerous shoreline. Wild waves were crashing down upon the stones, sending their own rumblings through the air, but there was nothing prominent. Just rocky shoreline.
He turned away, placing a hand on the fortress once more.
Again, nothing happened. It remained cool, wet stone. He started forward again, keeping his hand trailing along the rock.
He didn't make it more than a dozen feet before it happened.
There was a great moaning sound, as if everything around him was crying out in pain, and he tried to pull away—only to find that his hand was stuck to the stones as had happened several times before, and he was bound in place by some invisible strength.
He pulled harder, his harsh breathing drowned out by the sounds of…pain, and suddenly his vision clouded and he was no longer on the grassy hill. He was being pulled into a vision inside the vision, as had happened before.
But not quite like this.
"Traitor."
His vision was swimming back into focus. He was inside a room, lit by dim torches. A tall form stood over a crouched figure.
"Master, I—"
"Silenssse!"
He was half-kneeling, hand suspended in front of him, no less than ten feet from his enemy. No one reacted to his presence, so he knew he wasn't really there, but it felt real. Much more real than any of his other 'real' visions.
It seemed real. He could feel the wafting air from the torches, he could hear muffled sounds coming from other rooms…he was there yet he wasn't there.
"Fool."
Bile rose in this throat. It was Tom, leaning over some hapless…
He saw dark hair curtaining a bowed head.
Merlin, he thought with horror. It was Snape. Why was Snape there!
"You have mocked me with your betrayal long enough, Ssseverusss!" Tom had never seemed more angry.
Snape was going to die. He knew it without a doubt.
There was no way for him to escape, no way for him to get away from this terrible fate.
And he knew it was going to be horrible. Tom loved to torture, he loved pain.
And he hated betrayal.
"I don't know what—" Snape tried, voice disgustingly submissive to this monster. Harry's heart twisted, hearing Snape have to debase himself to this…thing.
"Crucio!"
If Harry hadn't been half-expecting it, he would have screamed. Never before had he felt curses while in these visions, but, as he'd realized earlier, tonight was different. Everything had changed.
As it was, he still half-cried out, biting his tongue hard as pain scorched through his body. He was on his knees, hand still held up in the fortress wall, though he could not see it, and he writhed in agony, barely able to keep his eyes on the scene before him.
Snape too was writhing in pain, though he did not scream once. His body was twitching and convulsing grotesquely, and Harry wished he could look away.
But someone had to see. Someone had to remember that Snape had died with pride, without begging once. Without crying out even once.
"Finite Incantatem."
Harry gasped in relief, body shuddering with the echoes of the curse, and checked on Snape. The man was on his hands and knees now, gasping for air.
"My Lord—"
"I have not been your lord for some time, Ssseverusss," Tom hissed. "Do not think you can fool me! You housed the boy for a week and more, without bringing him to me! And do not even try to suggest that you could not!"
Snape looked up suddenly, eyes narrowed and burning with hate. "You're a bloody bastard, Voldemort!"
Red eyes widened in shock at those brazen words.
"May you rot in hell!"
Gryffindor, Harry thought with a moment's dark amusement. He would remember that as well. Snape was no coward.
"Albus will destroy you."
"Crucio!"
Harry couldn't help the scream this time. The pain was worse, much worse, as if Tom's hate had somehow quadrupled in an instant. He knew he was hitting the stones in front of him, thrashing with unstoppable agony as if trying to escape it all.
But he didn't lose consciousness, and neither did Snape.
He did not hear the end of the spell, nor did he feel much relief from it. He was shaking so badly that he could barely lift his head, and he could see that Snape was struggling to keep his eyes open.
"Legillimens!" the monster hissed.
Harry's eyes went wide. There was no way Snape could resist the spell. Not as weak and injured as he now was.
Something slimy seemed to be clawing at his mind, digging through it. It was as if the very fingertips of Tom's spell were reaching past Snape and into his own head, through this odd connection that they were somehow sharing.
He occluded his mind as best he could, trying to somehow send Snape some of his own strength, but he didn't know if it worked. Snape was panting in pain, eyes shut tightly, and Harry didn't have a chance to see if Tom had pulled anything from Snape's exhausted mind.
Because at that moment the wall to his left exploded in a shower of stone and mortar.
And his heart plummeted.
Albus Dumbledore stood there, eyes blazing with unhidden fury and wand held aloft.
But he stood alone. There was no order with him, no one to watch his back. And Harry knew that there were too many—too many for Albus to possibly escape. He was incredible, powerful, everything, but he was not invincible.
He could almost feel the smugness of Tom as he saw this new development. He had over one hundred Death Eaters at his back, and he was at full power.
No, no no no nonononono, Harry screamed in his head as Dumbledore strode forward, anger on his face and concern starting to creep into his eyes as he saw the crumpled figure of his spy.
No one moved as Dumbledore approached Snape and knelt at his side, a wizened hand lifting him up. "Go."
Snape did not react to the word at all, his eyes cloudy and unfocused.
But it did not matter. In an instant, the man was gone in a flash of light and the spell in the room was lifted.
Voldemort shouted, enraged, and the battle began.
Harry wanted to scream, to help, to do something. He raged and struggled against whatever force held him, determined to help the headmaster, but in the end he couldn't escape.
Instead he had to watch everything.
He had never seen such fighting. Dumbledore used spells that he had only read about, spells that no one dared use. The sheer power and skill of the old wizard was overwhelming, and still it was not enough.
A sparkling blue shield shattered under a curse sent by Tom, and blossoming flames were quenched with water from a dozen wands.
Golden streams of something melted away when hit with two dozen counter-curses, and even when more than a dozen death eaters lay unconscious or dead there were many more available to take their places.
There was no way that Dumbledore could win. It just wasn't possible, and even if he'd had the entire Order at his back, they would have been mowed down. A dozen cannot hope to win against hundreds, though they may and would have tried.
He watched another one of Dumbledore's spells get shattered by sheer numbers. This was ridiculous. It was impossible, he told himself, none of this was happening. But it was, and he had to watch it. He had to witness it all, as the Death Eaters wore down the old man, until finally a reducto curse slammed into his leg.
The wizard toppled, and Harry screamed in pain and denial. His own leg burned with agony, but that was unimportant. His eyes were on the fallen hero, the mentor that now faced his last moments on Earth.
The old man raised his head proudly, glaring defiantly at Tom. "You have lost this war, Tom," he said calmly. "You cannot avoid it."
"But I have won this battle, old man!" Tom snarled, eyes blazing.
He slashed downward with his wand. Harry's eyes were fixed on Dumbledore's, and for a moment he was sure the old man saw him. A soft smile and twinkle convinced him, and he tried to smile back through his tears and pain.
The wizard winked and relaxed backwards. The blue eyes dimmed and lost their focus. There was red at Dumbledore's mouth, Harry realized. There was red everywhere.
The old wizard mouthed something weakly as he collapsed. And was still.
Tom laughed maniacally and Harry screamed again. He struggled blindly, trying to avoid looking at those suddenly sightless blue eyes behind their glasses and the now cooling body.
Pain lanced across his face.
He struggled harder.
Again, pain in his face.
Someone was slapping him.
His hands were finally tearing free of the stones, as if they were ripping apart…
"Wake up—"
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"—Harry!"
He woke up with a scream, sitting up and twisting sideways to vomit over the side of his bed. He looked up blearily, shaking so badly that he could barely hold himself up, and realized that he'd just deposited his half-digested dinner into Hermione's lap.
She didn't seem to have noticed, though. Her eyes were on him, full of worry and fear.
"Dumbledore's dead," he muttered. "He's dead!"
"Harry, you're delirious," Hermione cried out. "You've been screaming off and on for an hour now!" He saw she was holding the empty vial. "What did you take?" she demanded.
He shook his head vehemently. "Get McGonagall, get someone!" he demanded.
"Harry…she's coming," he heard Ron say. He twisted around to see his other best friend sitting at his other side, face drawn and white. "What happened? What are you talking about?"
Harry glanced over as he saw movement, and realized Hermione was vanishing the mess from her lap. "Saw it…Snape…tortured…Dumbledore got him away…but…but…"
He gasped in and out, suddenly unable to breathe properly. Something was blocking his lungs. He was suffocating…
"Harry, you're going into shock," he heard Hermione say, voice tense with held back emotion. "You've got to stop hyperventilating!"
He tried to listen to what she said, but the image of the dead headmaster was burned in his mind.
Dumbledore. Dead.
Dead, dead, dead….his mind was running circles, unable to wrap around something so terrible.
"Mr. Potter!"
He looked up at McGonagall, eyes still unfocused. He would have asked for his glasses, but he wasn't sure he could form the words.
His mouth opened and closed twice—he couldn't make any words come out.
"Dumbledore," he finally managed. "Dead…"
His air finally ran out, and he couldn't seem to draw another breath in.
His eyes rolled back in his head, and he wasn't even aware of his head hitting his pillow.
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He awoke in an instant, eyes snapping open and darting frantically around the room…
Where was he?
White walls, white bed, white sheets…the infirmary, he realized. He could hear soft muttering, but that wasn't what had awakened him.
Something important had happened…something…
Merlin.
Merlin, no…
Albus Dumbledore was dead.
He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, intending to look for someone, anyone, and tell them what had happened.
But when his left foot touched the ground he half-screamed and collapsed, dagger-like pains jabbing his knee and all the way up through his hip.
He fell hard on the tiled floor, too dazed and pained to catch himself, and struggled to get back up.
But every moment caused him pain, and every thought fueled his panicked state of mind.
His knee slammed into the bedpost next to him, and he cried out again before he passed out.
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Muttering woke him.
It was somewhere to his left, and he realized he was in the infirmary. He didn't know why, but it was a pretty common occurrence, so he didn't worry about it.
Stiffly, he sat up, trying to remember just why he ached so badly. Had he fallen from his broom? That didn't seem right…
Something terrible had happened, he remembered. He vaguely recalled waking up in the infirmary sometime recently, but couldn't remember the details. Something…
The muttering distracted him, though, and he got to his feet and tottered forward unsteadily, squinting at the bed in front of himself. For some reason, his left knee felt as if it had been run over by a herd of hippogriffs, and the rest of his body ached in a disturbingly familiar manner.
He eyed the bed he was walking towards. Someone was lying on their back, staring up at the ceiling.
Someone with black hair and eyes…Snape, he realized.
"Sir?" he asked, voice quiet.
The wizard sat up in an instant, hands reaching like claws to grab his robe's collar and yank him forward until they were face to face.
Harry was frozen in shock, staring into those burning eyes.
"He knows!"
"S-Sir?" he asked, confused.
"He knows!"
The hands released him and he fell backwards, barely managing to keep from landing on his back.
He watched in shock as Snape relaxed back onto his pillow, muttering incoherently once more.
And suddenly he remembered everything, all that he had seen and felt and heard…
His stomach was already empty, but he heaved anyway, muscles spasming painfully as he dry heaved over and over, his mind fixed on that last moment, when had look into the headmaster's dimming eyes.
It couldn't be real. There was no way it was real.
Frantic, he pulled up his pant leg—and saw the swollen, bruised, and scarred skin…in the same place as the Reducto Curse had hit Dumbledore.
He tugged at his shirt—there was a long, pale scar across his chest…
The fatal blow—the long slash across Dumbledore's chest…mirrored upon his own body…
It had happened. It had all happened.
"No. No, no, nono," he said, voice disturbingly steady and quiet. He backed away, still on the floor, still muttering, trying to deny it, and was suddenly bathed in blinding light.
"Harry!" he heard shouted. Hands were on him, trying to get him to his feet, but he shoved them away, swinging blindly until they let him fall back to the floor.
"Get…get away!" he shouted. "It's not true!"
"Voldemort has just sent his…body…back to us," he heard a soft voice say. "It's true…Albus is dead…"
"NO!" he shouted. "It was a lie! Tom's trying to trick me!"
"Harry, please!" he heard a tearful voice plead.
"SHUT UP!" he screamed. "It's not true!"
"Harry, I love you."
He blinked, and looked up sharply.
Mrs. Weasley stood there, eyes soft and warm. He had never seen such sorrow and compassion in her eyes before, not even when he had lain in the infirmary after his fourth year, nor when he'd had the vision about Mr. Weasley his fifth. Not even when Sirius had died.
She had never said 'I love you' before, either.
"I—I don't know what…" he groaned. He let her kneel beside him, looping her arm around his and pulling him to his feet. He looked down, embarrassed by his emotional breakdown, but the woman held him tightly, and for a moment he felt as if he were in his own mother's arms, safe and protected.
"It will be all right," she promised. "I won't let it be any other way."
"All right…" he said softly, echoing her. "It can't be true…he can't be dead," he told her softly. "It was a dream."
"It will be all right," she promised. "You have to sleep."
He was too dazed to resist as she led him back to his bed, and he greeted Ron and Hermione as if in a daze, letting Hermione smooth his hair in a motherly gesture. He felt a light hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Luna there, eyes soft with worry, and he managed a half-smile before he turned away.
His eyes were starting to slip closed when he saw the man in the other bed.
He knows…
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Dumbledore looked like he was sleeping, Harry decided. His eyes were closed, hands folded on his chest, and the gaping wound that had existed across his torso was gone. He was whole, he looked unhurt, and he was absolutely still.
The wizard that had guided…sometimes, admittedly, manipulated…him was gone. He'd always imagined that Dumbledore would be there to help him defeat Tom, but now he was alone.
He reached out a hand, as if wanting to wake the headmaster, and stopped, hand shaking, and let it drop back to his side. There was no need to deny it, he told himself. It was done. He couldn't change it.
Dumbledore had done what he needed to do to save Snape, and there was no taking it back. It was just too ironic that the headmaster had died for an insane man…
He turned and left the small alcove and went to the only patient in the hospital wing.
Snape lay just as he had the day before, muttering softly and staring at the ceiling.
"What does he know?" Harry asked aloud. "What did he find out from you?"
Mutters were the only response, and Harry wondered at the sick irony that his life had suddenly become. It hadn't been that long since he and Snape had finally settled their difference, and now that was all gone. None of it mattered, because Snape didn't recognize him nor anyone else.
He knows…
He was very afraid of what those words meant.
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Luna kissed him softly, lips pressing against his for a long, sweet moment. He sighed against her, loving her warmth and life. She was what he needed so badly in his life, and it was amazing to know just how wonderful she truly was.
Ron and Hermione had backed off to give them a little space, respectful of Luna's place in his life, and he wondered just what it was that he'd done to deserve such incredible friends. Certainly, he hadn't done a thing recently, and he couldn't imagine getting the chance to do anything anytime soon.
He let his hands wander across her lower back, feeling her soft skin and warmth beneath his fingertips. She felt so right, so wonderful and alive…
"I'm afraid," he said. "What happens now?"
"We fight," Luna said softly. "We have no choice."
"I don't want to lose anyone else," he admitted.
"You haven't lost anyone," she told him softly, voice dreamy. "They are all still there…you just have to look a little harder."
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He heard the soft crying before he knew who it was. He'd spent the entire day in a daze, going to classes on automatic, wondering when Dumbledore's death was to be announced and wondering if the school would manage without its headmaster.
And when he looked inside that empty classroom, his fears only increased. McGonagall sat at a desk, face buried in her hands while her shoulders shook with soft sobs. It was so…unlike…her that Harry stood rooted, afraid to leave her and afraid to speak. Her hair had loosened from its strict bun, stray pieces of gray falling around her shoulders, and her robes look rumpled and worn.
He made his decision and went into the room quietly, tentatively. McGonagall was the closest thing he had to a mother at Hogwarts, he knew, and seeing her like this only made him realize even more just how important she was in his life.
Cautiously he reached out a hand and touched her shoulder, half expecting her to leap up and tell him to get out.
But she only hesitated a moment, face still buried, and then looked up, smiling weakly. "Mr. Potter," she said softly, then cleared her throat forcedly. "Ah…"
"I'm sorry," Harry said. He wasn't sure what else he could say.
McGonagall's smile wobbled dangerously, then disappeared. "Fawkes has disappeared…"
Harry wasn't sure what to say. It seemed impossible that Fawkes could be permanently gone, but it wouldn't surprise him. That bird had been so attached to the headmaster… "I miss him," he said quietly, referring to the headmaster.
"Oh, dear…" McGonagall said softly. Harry got the idea that she wanted to comfort him, but within moments he was sitting next to her, his arm around her shoulders as she started to cry once more.
He wondered just how long she had worked with the headmaster, but didn't ask. It just didn't seem right. And although most of the staff disliked Snape, he knew that she respected and perhaps cared about him. She had lost him too…he didn't recognize her at all, didn't react to her voice or presence in any way.
Awkwardly, though admittedly crying women seemed to be a specialty of his, he kept his arm around her shoulders and let her cry, wondering what he was supposed to do.
But he knew the answer to that. He had to kill Tom. He had to do it, and he had to do it soon. He couldn't take another death, and, even more, he couldn't take watching others fall apart because of the deaths.
"It will be announced tonight," McGonagall said softly. "The ministry will be in uproar…there will be no way to stop panic from spreading."
"I have to kill him," Harry said aloud before he could stop himself.
"Don't even think about leaving this castle," McGonagall said, sounding almost like her old self. "We can't lose you now!"
"This has gone on long enough," he said firmly.
He knows…
"Oh damn…" he added. The words suddenly made sense. Everything fell into place.
And, if he had it right, everything was about to begin.
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A/N: Well, my 'Death of Dumbledore' may not have been that great, but I tried. I just don't like killing him off, so its hard to write. I've never imagined him dying, but it had to happen. Harry has to kill Voldemort on his own.
This is what I wrote about a year and a bit ago:
Funnily enough, I wrote this before the rumors of Dumble's death came out…it just seemed a necessary part of year six, and perhaps Rowling feels the same…as I'm writing this little blip now, it's only about twelve days from the release of HBP. Can't wait!
This is what I had to say about a week ago:
Ugh, I can barely read this now. Hopefully, you manage and can leave me a comment about it.
Thanks,
Miss Laine