Pain.
A pain that surpassed everything, that blocked his whole perception and paralyzed his body, the existence of which he could only guess because the pain defined it. The entire world seemed to consist of this all-encompassing pain. He had never experienced such agony before in his life. Never, really? There was a frustrating emptiness in his mind. What had really happened? He didn't remember. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he saw images that were so confusing that he couldn't figure them out. Images of destruction and feelings he couldn't grasp, which were so horrible but seemed far away, as if they weren't his own.
The omnipresent pain was encompassed by an incredible darkness. He was disorientated, didn't know where he was. Nothing was tangible.
From a place in this darkness, he heard the murmur of at least a dozen voices talking wildly and excitedly, so that only fragments of words, fractions of sentences, could get through to him. The voices' owners were either right next to him or a hundred miles away. The pain distorted his perception.
" ... I can't understand ..."
" ... cannot be ..."
" ... destroyed him ..."
" ... where ..."
And again and again the same word, the meaning of which he didn't know, but which nevertheless caused existential fear in him:
"Azkaban"
He didn't remember what had happened that could cause such pain and he didn't understand what the voices wanted from him. Did they even talk about him? They kept saying a name, but he didn't know if it was his or someone else's.
All the while, the unbearable pain raged within him, preventing him from even having a clear thought.
And suddenly the burning pain exploded. A mad agony raced through his body like flames that threatened to scorch him. Someone touched him, causing the pain to almost make him lose his mind. A long, tormented cry came from his lips, which only ended when the darkness graciously encompassed him again.
##
A small group of young people had gathered in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. They stood around the large desk thoughtfully, after the cheering of the portraits on the walls had subsided. On the table, along with some other things, was a long, beautifully shaped wand, broken in half, its pieces lying side by side as if they had never belonged together.
Harry had contemplated for a while whether he really wanted to destroy the Elder Wand. To own and use it was more than tempting. But on the other hand, this wand had done little good in all the years of its existence. Harry had an inkling that the Elder Wand itself had a dark, devastating soul.
Maybe he should ask Olivander about it. At some point, when everything had calmed down again.
No, he didn't want to use that wand, especially since his own had always served him well. Harry knew deep down that the Elder Wand would have destroyed him at some point. He'd only used it once to repair his own wand, which had been broken in battle, because no other wand could have done that.
Hermione was also more than pleased that Harry had seen reason and made this decision. She had almost been afraid that her friend would change his mind. Ever since she had seen what Voldemort had been able to do with it, she had had terrifying respect for the Elder Wand, which looked so harmless as it lay there, broken in half.
Only Ron seemed to mourn the wand a little because, in his head, interesting ideas had already developed about what they could do with it. Still, he agreed with his friend Harry. Something so unpredictable and powerful shouldn't exist in a world where there were always enough people who could abuse it. Because Voldemort would certainly not have been the last dark wizard on earth.
"We should check on Snape," Harry interrupted his friends' thoughts, "I think we should get him and organize a dignified funeral for him."
Hermione nodded, having the same thought. The Potions Master had made their student life so hard over the years that she was all the more surprised at what his real motives had always been. Severus Snape had been a courageous man. Hermione knew how much Harry chewed on the fact that he hadn't been able to thank Snape for everything he had done for Harry's mother and ultimately for him as well. So she knew why Harry wanted to bury him in dignity. It was Harry's only way to show his gratefulness to his former teacher and to give him the honour he deserved.
In silence, they made their way to the Shrieking Shack, where they had had to leave a dying Snape behind after Voldemort's attack. Through the secret passage that led from Hogwarts' dungeons directly into the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade, they had soon reached their destination and quickly hurried up the rotten stairs to the top floor. There was only one room there, which was locked by a massive sliding door. The glass was cloudy from the dirt of the many years in which the shack hadn't been used. Harry paused briefly at the top of the stairs to take a deep breath before carefully opening the door.
He hadn't expected what he saw.
Severus Snape crouched on the damp floor, hands clasped over his head as if trying to protect himself from something. He had his head bent towards his knees, making his night-black hair fall on his legs to hide his face. The man trembled violently and breathed heavily, he seemed to be crying. Harry, Hermione, and Ron looked at each other in surprise, knowing that the Potions Master should actually be dead. After all, they had seen with their own eyes how Nagini, Voldemort's snake, had hurt him lethally. Harry knew that Snape had stopped breathing when they had had to leave their former professor behind.
After shaking off the surprise, Harry leaned over to Snape, unable to believe that he was alive. Harry carefully brushed the long hair from the man's forehead to look into his face.
"Harry!" Hermione cried softly, making him raise his head and look in the direction she was pointing. On the rotted ledge of the long-shattered window sat a strikingly beautiful, blood-red bird that croaked softly and raised its wings when it recognized Harry.
"It's Fawkes, Dumbledore's Phoenix!" Harry exclaimed.
The surprise was written on his face as he slowly realized what had happened here.
Hermione nodded and confirmed Harry's thoughts: "With his tears, he can heal wounds..."
"He came through the window shortly after you left..." said a low voice.
The friends turned back to Snape, who tried to get up. Since he was too weak to make it on his own, Harry and Ron reached under his arms and helped him onto his shaking legs. Harry kept supporting the man when he finally stood because he was obviously too weak to stand on his own.
"The Dark Lord?" Snape asked, frightened, looking around frantically as if expecting Voldemort to walk through the door to finish his job. The last encounter with the Dark Lord had been one of the worst moments in his life. Only Lily's death so many years ago had moved him more.
"He's dead. He was defeated - once and for all!" Harry, with some pride in his voice, calmed Snape down.
He could hardly believe that the impossible had come true, that Voldemort was really dead and would never return.
Snape took a deep breath. The relief made him shiver as a single tear rolled down his pale cheek. He could hardly believe that it was over, and he was still alive.
Hermione gave Ron a little nudge and indicated that it was better to leave now. She was aware that Harry and Snape now needed time for each other. Time to talk to each other and hopefully finally reconciliate. Ron looked at her a little confused at first, but her eyes spoke volumes so that he followed her in silence. Harry gave them a grateful glance before closing the door.
He carefully helped his former teacher sit down on a chair that didn't inspire confidence. Snape gave a grateful look, seeming as if he was about to burst into tears.
"Severus," Harry said softly, unsure if he could take a right to speak so intimately.
But the latter nodded benevolently, which is why Harry continued to speak courageously: "I saw your memories in the Pensieve, and..."
The young man's voice broke when countless heavy emotions came over him.
Snape touched Harry's hand gently and tried to smile, but said nothing because he was so profoundly moved himself.
"Thank you," Harry breathed. Then he went around the table and hugged the other man because he just couldn't find words to express what was going on inside him.
Snape returned the hug, enjoying for a moment the almost unbelievable happiness that he had survived and that he'd never have to hide his real motives from Harry Potter again.
##
In these vaults, there was an absolute silence that inspired fear in everyone who came there. The prison was far below the surface of the earth and was hardly known to anyone. Only the highest-ranking Aurors from the Ministry of Magic knew about this place, and only a few of them had ever visited these labyrinthine corridors. Access to this cave system was strictly regulated. No one came in here for no reason. Apart from that, no one liked to work here, as dark and cold as it was. The underground caverns were made to accommodate only very special prisoners. A necessity, since it was hardly possible to keep those prisoners in Azkaban at the moment.
The famous wizarding prison had been severely damaged during the war against Voldemort and his followers. An entire wall of the building, surrounded by the roaring waters of the Atlantic, had simply been blown away just over three years ago in a mass outbreak in which almost all of the Death Eaters, who had still been loyal to Voldemort even years after his disappearance, had been freed. Voldemort had used extremely powerful magic, which even the Dementors, the feared guards of Azkaban, had no means to counter. An absolutely dark day for the Ministry of Magic, because the bans and curses that should have protected Azkaban were supposed to ward off everything imaginable. Unfortunately, Voldemort had been unpredictable and had had access to powers that probably only he really understood.
Now that Azkaban's high-security wing was unavailable, another location had to be found for the felons, especially the Death Eaters, and this particular one met all the requirements. They had had to invent entirely new protective spells that weren't known to the Death Eaters who were still roaming freely. There wasn't to be the slightest chance that any undesirables could get in or out.
The Aurors had been busy interrogating former Death Eaters for weeks, which turned out to be somewhat tricky. They either claimed that they had been under the Imperius curse, which couldn't be proven, or stubbornly refused to give any kind of evidence at all. Using the Cruciatus curse for interrogation was strictly forbidden, which some Aurors deeply regretted.
And then there was a very specific prisoner, the most stubborn of all, who treated the Aurors and everyone else with indifference. Well, strictly speaking, he didn't even do that, he was just lying on his bunk, staring at the ceiling and showing no emotion.
Because of him, the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had arrived in person to get an overview of the situation. The visit didn't necessarily excite the prison manager, Harlan Goodson. He didn't like it when the authorities got involved in his work. He already had enough worries.
Shacklebolt paced restlessly in Goodson's office, his forehead wrinkled. His dissatisfaction with certain events was chiselled into his face.
"It's absolutely and undoubtedly necessary to get this prisoner to talk," he announced angrily. "We are trying to put him to trial to show the world that the wizards of Great Britain can defend themselves against tyranny! His confession is of the highest priority!"
"The man is unresponsive. He just lies there all day and doesn't do anything," Goodson tried to justify his lack of success "Heaven knows where his mind has gone - at least it doesn't seem to be here. We are Aurors, Minister, not miracle healers!"
"That's exactly why I brought someone familiar with such problems," the minister said firmly.
He gestured with his thumb at the person standing behind him, a middle-aged woman whose thick black hair fell over her shoulders and framed a pale face that at no instance gave a glimpse behind an undoubtedly perfect facade. Her shape was wrapped in a flowing black robe that reached the floor.
"Ms McAlister is one of the most experienced Aurors of our time. Besides, for some reason, she had the opportunity to study psychology in the Muggle world. You can be assured that she knows the depths of the human mind like no other. If anyone gets him to talk, it's her!" Shacklebolt let the prison manager know, looking at him with more than a little bit of contempt.
Goodson wrinkled his nose contemptuously, glaring at the Minister.
"You don't seriously believe that Muggle methods work with this guy!" He snapped.
"Well, your interrogation practices just seem to bounce off him, which you can't really count as a success," McAlister said.
She had an icy voice that could probably be used to cut metal. The look from her dark eyes was just as frosty, making fear creep up Goodson's spine. His whole being wanted to resist Shacklebolt's desire to bring this woman into contact with any prisoner. Not even with this particular one.
"Believe me," Shacklebolt spoke again, "the lady has made everyone talk so far. Everyone."
The conversation was over for the Minister. He said goodbye and left the office in a hurry. He'd probably have disapparated immediately, had it been possible within the caverns. Every sensible person automatically felt uncomfortable in this place and felt the urgent need to leave as soon as possible.
"Well, then," Goodson finally decided, "then it would probably be best to organize a quarter for you..."
At the same time, he appraised the woman with undisguised suspicion. He had a strange premonition that she was going to mess up his so perfectly organized prison.
McAlister shook her head unwillingly.
"No, I want to be taken to the prisoner immediately! The sooner I can start, the better," she let the prison manager know without emotion.
"As you wish," he sighed, instructing one of the guards to take the woman to a specific dungeon.
##
Harry Potter and his friends had withdrawn to Shell Cottage, where Bill Weasley and his heavily pregnant wife Fleur lived. The Weasley family had owned the cottage for countless generations. Located on the Scottish west coast, it offered a magnificent view of the sea. The nearest neighbours lived a few miles away, making the house a perfect retreat.
The people who had set up camp here needed a refuge more than anything else in these times. Far from daily life, they could find a way to go back to normality here, something they knew would be more than painful. The dark times under Voldemort's rule had left traces on everyone, deep wounds that might never heal.
The crucial battle of Hogwarts had taken place not long ago. The fear of death was still in everyone's bones. When Harry had finally been able to defeat Voldemort at the very last moment, when everything had already seemed lost, everyone had wanted to be the first to congratulate him. They had passed him around like a trophy until he finally had had enough and had retired with his friends.
Of course, everyone wanted to know in detail how he managed to defeat the Dark Lord. He had been assailed with countless questions. The Aurors wanted him to comment, whereas the Daily Prophet's reporters, especially Rita Skeeter, would have loved to interview him. But he didn't want to talk about it. The only thing Harry really wanted was to go somewhere with his friends where they could grieve and were left alone. All these people could think what they wanted. Perhaps later, when he had calmed down and processed what he had experienced, he'd answer all of the questions. Not now.
Each of them had to mourn, and it was hard to do that alone. No one wanted to be by themselves during this difficult time, so Shell Cottage was actually a perfect place. Remus, Tonks and Fred were so painfully absent that it was hard to bear. The memory of them was everywhere and didn't leave anyone alone. Luna, the good soul, had immediately agreed to look after Teddy, the werewolf's son, who was only a few weeks old. Neville, who had outgrown himself in the presence of Voldemort more than he had ever thought possible, took the opportunity to help Luna wherever he could.
And then there was George, who hadn't spoken a word since the death of his twin who had given his life for George. He had blocked all attempts to be given consolation, and now walked alone for miles every day through the rugged terrain and didn't let anyone approach him. Not even his mother, whose broken heart would probably never heal completely.
In general, there was an oppressive silence holding the cottage in its grip. There hadn't been heard a laugh since they had retreated to this place. In some moments, they believed that they would never be happy again, just as if a horde of dementors were circling the roof. Of course, everyone was relieved that this miserable war was finally over, but for many, the price of victory had been too much to pay. Some were haunted by eerie nightmares in which they suffered the horrors, again and again heard the screams of the dying and saw all the cruel images in devastating detail. Even the most powerful wizard couldn't easily cope with such trauma. How could it be expected of these young people?
Voldemort was dead, but the hatred people felt for him was still very much alive.
##
Harry spent much of his time with Severus Snape, talking to him about the past because Harry didn't want to think about the future. Since he had been eleven years old, he had always had one goal in mind - to destroy his worst enemy. Now that this task was done, he felt an oppressive emptiness. Even though he had hated Voldemort so deeply, even though he had wished for the Dark Lord's death more than anything else, Voldemort had always been a part of him that was now missing.
He'd never forget the moment when Voldemort was hit by his own killing curse, which the Elder Wand had thrown back at him. The look in his eyes haunted Harry every night in his dreams. Even during the day, he kept thinking about how Voldemort had looked at him before hitting the floor. Something had been wrong with these eyes, something he could not place a finger on, he just couldn't find out what it was. The moment the Dark Lord had died, Harry's scar had hurt so much that he had fallen to his knees and screamed. It had taken several minutes for him to see clearly again, for the waves of pain to subside. By then, they had already carried Voldemort away, and Harry had been glad not to have to see the man anymore. Still, he couldn't get his mind off Voldemort's last look, mainly because his scar was still tingling, something he absolutely couldn't explain.
All residents of the cottage were constantly on the lookout for occupational therapy to distract themselves from the painful memories. Molly Weasley was the one who showed the most action. She vigorously cleaned the whole house from top to bottom, only to start again when she was done. As long as she was working, the pain was bearable. But as soon as she came to rest, the grief for her son came over her so relentlessly again that she cried half the night.
Hermione and Ginny took care of the large and extremely overgrown garden. One had to make the best of the summer up here in the north of Great Britain because it was over faster than one could believe. So they spent many hours together, but most of the time none of them said a word.
Ginny, in particular, was lost in severe silence, which eventually led Hermione to ask what she was brooding about so intensely.
Ginny sighed: "Harry's withdrawing from me more and more. Sometimes I've got the feeling that he no longer wants to notice us at all. He speaks to Snape for hours every day, but to no one else ..."
Hermione sensed how much Harry's behavior hurt Ginny. She knew that her friend really loved him and would have done everything to make him feel at least a little better.
"They have a lot to talk about," Hermione tried to comfort the younger woman, "No one can tell him more about his parents than Snape. As crazy as that may sound, I think Harry now considers Snape part of his family. I mean, after losing everyone else, Snape is probably the one closest to him..."
"It's astonishing, considering how much the two hated each other all those years," Ginny said matter-of-factly, trying hard to avoid showing her disappointment that she wasn't the one who was closest to Harry.
Vigorously, she pushed the budding jealousy aside and followed Hermione's gaze down to the beach.
Down there, Snape and Harry were sitting on a large boulder that had been left there aeons ago by the sea. They had an animated conversation, which was surprising, considering that Harry had otherwise become very silent. But when he was with Snape, he looked more relaxed, less thoughtful. He seemed to be enjoying the many hours that he spent alone with his former teacher.
Watching this struck Ginny's heart every time. She could understand that Harry and Snape had a lot of catching up to do and that Harry had some connection with his late parents through the Potion Master, but she still couldn't get rid of her suspicions about Snape.
Their relationship had been on ice since the Battle of Hogwarts, and she feared that she'd lose Harry eventually. A thought she could hardly bear.
##
Snape and Harry sat on the beach almost every day or walked there for hours. This place was terrific, seemed out of time as though the cruel world outside no longer existed. Time went by quickly every day because they had so much to talk about. When Harry had seen Snape's memories in the Pensieve, he had realized that they were just the tip of a mighty iceberg. Near Severus, Harry almost felt like he sensed his mother's presence. Snape spoke about his childhood, his school days, all the beautiful moments with Lily that had passed forever on the day of her tragic death. Sometimes they just sat quietly, lingering over their thoughts, and glad for each other's presence.
At some point, of course, Harry came up with another topic that had been part of his life for years.
"And Voldemort never had the slightest suspicion? I'm really impressed, Severus! I mean, as paranoid as he always was..." Harry said in appreciation when Snape had told some anecdotes about the Dark Lord.
Snape smiled slightly, proud of his performance as Dumbledore's spy.
"After I killed Dumbledore, Voldemort never had the slightest doubt. He never suspected that I was pursuing my own goals," he told his interested listener, "He was so convinced of himself and always concerned with his own thoughts and plans that he almost forgot everyday business at times. One of his biggest fallacies was to think that the Elder Wand obeyed a new owner after killing the former, while in fact, it was only necessary to disarm him. The realization that you were the wand's master all along instead of him probably made him lose his mind."
"Well," Harry said with a cheerless smile, "at least he wasn't particularly thrilled when it became clear to him. But the killing curse had already touched him at that moment, so it didn't matter anymore anyway..."
And again Harry had to think of Voldemort's last look, which he had seen but couldn't understand.
But because he didn't want to ponder Voldemort at any cost, Harry leaned back and enjoyed the warming sun on his face. He still could hardly believe that everything was over now. It would take him a while to get used to the fact that the hunt for Voldemort and his Horcruxes was no longer part of life. But Severus, in his quiet manner and honest stories, had helped Harry find a new focus. Bitterness and hatred of past things and events may still be deeply rooted in both souls, but the indescribable happiness of having survived something that so many didn't, allowed them to see many things in a more differentiated way. The love for Lily connected Harry and Severus in a way that neither of them had thought possible.
After both had been lost in their thoughts for a while, Severus finally got up. The sun slowly set on the horizon and the air became noticeably cooler. So far in the north, summer was called summer only because the weather wasn't quite as terrible as during the other seasons. A few clouds appeared, suggesting that rain would fall all night, as was so often the case.
Harry followed his former teacher into the house where Mrs Weasley had already set the table. It would be a long time before everyone really understood that the dark times were in the past now, that no Death Eaters would ever again show up and wreak havoc at a peaceful dinner. The nervousness was still there, persistent.
##
The Auror had been sitting silently in this particular prisoner's cell for several days now. The air was so cold and damp that her clothes were always a bit clammy, making McAlister start to long for a warm bath. The only light source was a small ball of light, which, however, didn't produce more than a diffuse glow. The eerie environment gave her the shivers, but the order from the Ministry of Magic was clear and unmistakable: the prisoner wasn't to be given the slightest bit of comfort. He didn't deserve it, they said. It was apparently of no concern that the Auror was condemned to this horrible existence as well.
She didn't let that upset her. Every once in a while, she ordered one of the guards to bring her something to eat or drink, but she never left the cell, just sat there and waited. She couldn't do more as long as the cell's occupant ignored her. She knew he was conscious.
There had been some earnest conversations between her and the prison director that had finally resulted in a doctor grudgingly declaring himself willing to examine the prisoner. He wasn't in a coma or the like - the patient was awake. Very weak, but present. It seemed that he had withdrawn to the deepest reaches of his mind in order not to have to let the world get close to him.
Based on these known facts, Shannon McAlister had no choice but to wait. She could wait well because nature had endowed her with an infinite supply of patience. At some point, he'd have to speak.
She had looked him in the eye, but his eyes were so far removed from the world that he probably hadn't noticed her. Maybe she'd be scared of him if she hadn't been so hardened. McAlister knew how to deal with such things. For her, the silent man wasn't a prisoner, but above all, a patient. Not that she had compassion for him - no one really could expect that. But he needed help to find his way back. She was ready to give it to him if he let her.
But what was he supposed to come back to, she wondered. A world was waiting for him out there in which the minister was longing for the moment when the prisoner was at least so clear-minded that they could pass a verdict and carry it out. It was clear to everyone from the start what this verdict would look like. McAlister wasn't a fan of such legal practices, but on the other hand, no one would ask for her opinion anyway.
It wasn't surprising that he didn't want to return. On the contrary, McAlister understood him. That's why she wouldn't push.
Yet pity was in no way appropriate here. None of the people who took care of the prisoners here in the caverns had any other feeling than disgust for him. McAlister felt the pitying looks of the guards, who brought her a meal now and then. No one wanted to have anything to do with HIM.
And so she waited. Yesterday, today, tomorrow and however long it took. As long as she was here, at least it never occurred to anyone to carry out the sentence that hadn't been officially passed yet.
##
Harry watched Severus with interest as he got ready to travel. He had replaced his comfortable clothes with the black robes he had always worn at Hogwarts. The black hair he had liked to tie back in the past few days once again framed his striking face. Harry recognized the unapproachable look that Severus had always used to successfully keep the students at a distance at all times. The Potions Master was obviously up to something.
"You want to leave?" Harry asked after a while, realizing Severus wouldn't explain his doings anytime soon.
"There are still a few items at Hogwarts that I don't want to leave there. Also, some things still have to be done," the former professor informed dismissively, leaving no doubt that he wouldn't be discussing the subject.
Harry was extremely concerned about the destination of his former teacher. Hogwarts wasn't a safe place, given certain facts.
"You know the Aurors are looking for you? After all, you're officially a Death Eater, and you're surely on top of the Ministry's wanted list," he reminded Severus carefully.
Snape heard the anxiety in the young man's voice, feeling almost glad about it. He couldn't remember when anyone had ever really worried about him.
"I'm well aware of that, Harry. At least as far as those are concerned who have found out that I'm still alive," Severus said patiently, "Still, I must return to Hogwarts. It's of the utmost importance. "
The former teacher was suddenly as dismissive as ever. There was nothing left of the friendly warmth of the past few days, which only made Harry more worried.
"Then, at least let me go with you!" He finally asked, but Severus shook his head vehemently and looked at Harry thoughtfully.
"It's not possible, Harry. I'll be back in a few hours," he promised.
These were definitely his last words, and Harry knew exactly when it no longer made sense to argue. Severus looked at his former student one last time and then disapparated. Harry remained in Severus' room alone, staring at the same spot where the man had disapparated for a long while. Some inner voice told him that Severus hadn't told the whole truth, but he couldn't imagine what the man was actually up to.
"You fear he won't come back, do you?" asked a low voice behind him.
Harry hadn't noticed Ginny, who had been around for a few minutes already, watching the scene. Still, he was glad she was here. With a tired sigh, he put his hands in his pockets and walked back to the house.
"If only I knew what he's really up to! He looked so dismissive as if he wanted to avoid a farewell drama. I'm really worried that I won't see him again!" Harry finally shouted angrily, "That stubborn bloke! He knows he can trust me!"
Ginny considered: "Maybe he's left some open ends out there. He probably hadn't suspected Voldemort to kill him on the spot that evening..."
Maybe she was right about that, Harry admitted, but he didn't really believe it. He was afraid that he wouldn't see his new friend again, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing Severus. Interrupting his own brooding, Harry suddenly realized who was actually walking next to him. He instantly felt a burning bad conscience when realizing how much he had neglected his girlfriend lately. Carefully, he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her a little closer. He had no idea how much this little gesture meant to Ginny.
##
"Do you ever sleep?"
McAlister was a little startled when she heard the prisoner's strange voice so unexpectedly. Since nothing about this environment ever changed, she had long lost count on how many days she had already stayed here without ever moving. She had almost given up hope that he'd really speak at some point. How long had she already been here? It had to be for several days. Besides, she hadn't expected such a strange question. That's why she couldn't help smiling.
"It's a spell," she replied simply, "I assumed you knew it."
"Do I...?" he drawled, indecisive.
His voice was quieter than before, and he dragged the words out as if reminiscing about distant memories. Both of them were silent for countless minutes again.
"I don't know who you are... I just have a vague feeling that I know you..." he continued thoughtfully, glancing at the ceiling, and didn't seem to find the memory he was looking for.
McAlister said nothing. She knew exactly how and why he knew her, but she had no desire to talk about it. Especially not with him. On the outside, she showed no emotion. Even on the inside, she kept her countenance well, which was an essential skill for her job.
When asked about taking on this delicate task, she had made several considerations, but soon had come to the conclusion that, on the one hand, somebody had to do it, and on the other hand, that she was indeed excellently qualified, better than any other Auror. She hated the prisoner passionately, but she knew how to tame the hate to be calm. In view of his deeds, she was one of the few who had the necessary psychological steadiness to work with this particular case.
"The people here... doctors... guards... everyone seems to be disgusted with me..." he stated with a certain degree of surprise.
The black-haired woman tightened her lips until they only formed a line, shook her head almost unrecognizably and then replied calmly: "I don't think there's anyone here or elsewhere who's life you haven't turned into a living hell in these last years!"
He was silent for a while, contemplating, and she relaxed again.
After some endless minutes, he finally settled on another question: "I only see shadows... I vaguely remember names... no faces... I don't know... Severus... Lucius... Bellatrix... I'm not sure… Are they here too?"
Either he was suffering from amnesia, or he had just gone crazy. This time the woman really shook her head gravely.
"Lucius Malfoy?" She asked, surprised, "I don't know where he is at the moment, but I suspect him either somewhere around here or in Azkaban. As for Severus Snape and Bellatrix Lestrange - they're probably already waiting for you on the other side."
There was no emotion in McAlister's voice. She had buried those feelings deep inside, locked them up so that not even the most capable Legilimens would be able to find them. However, she wasn't entirely sure about this particular man. She had heard of his capabilities - he was probably one of the most talented Legilimenses of all time.
The prisoner was silent again for a long while in which neither of them moved. The silence was overwhelming, again only filled with his breathing. His barely existing nose seemed to make breathing difficult. Had it been the Horcruxes that had disfigured him? She didn't know.
"I don't know in what context I should see these people. There are only shadows of faces. Why are they all dead?" He finally asked her a question.
Was that uncertainty in the voice that used to be so dominant?
McAlister wiped the dark hair from her forehead and took a deep breath. Did he play with her? Did he pretend to be ignorant? Or did he really not know? Who could have guessed how much the killing curse had actually destroyed in him? It was an incomprehensible, cruel miracle anyway that he had survived the curse - again.
With a few brief words, she patiently explained to him what had become of his former collaborators.
He listened to her answer calmly and finally commented it tersely: "Well, they probably deserved it, didn't they? They were utterly bad people."
The Auror just shrugged and leaned back in her chair. She wasn't here to discuss morality and ethics with the prisoner. That probably wouldn't have led to anything anyway. But mentally, she wrote down every word he said. She'd also have noted if he had shown any emotion about all of this, but he was still just lying there, staring at the ceiling and speaking as if none of this concerned him, as if he hadn't been involved in the horror. A bit of anger knocked at her consciousness somewhere, but she successfully suppressed it. There was no use in reproaching him. She assumed that he'd have been amused anyway. So she remained completely calm on the outside.
"Others were killed too, weren't they? Did I kill them?" He spoke again after what felt like ages - a new, uncertain question that almost made her blood freeze.
She struggled with how to answer this question, having the impression he only asked it to anger her. He couldn't simply have forgotten the atrocities he had comitted!
"You killed countless people!" she huffed, biting her lower lip to suppress the anger still pounding on her mind.
Not willing to comment on her statement, he continued to stare at the ceiling while she wanted to get up and leave - or hit him. But she wasn't going to grant him this triumph, so she just kept sitting there, controlled her emotions and continued to look at him. At some point, he showed the first physical movement since she had entered his cell. He took a deep breath and turned to face the wall, his back to McAlister, who raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Go!" He said then, and it sounded like he was choking out the word between gritted teeth.
"Get me a newspaper!" He added after a short pause – now that sounded more like him.
##
Severus Snape stood alone, and a little lost in the dungeons of Hogwarts, where he had once lived and taught. He was aware that he'd never teach students here again, which caused contradictory feelings. He had always hated to be a teacher, but Dumbledore had wanted Severus to be close at hand at all times, so this was his only chance of employment. On the other hand, he missed his life within these walls. He had never had another home, not even at the time when he and the members of the Order had lived in Sirius Black's house on Grimmauld Place. He had only been an accepted but not a welcome guest to most of the Order members. But he had lived at Hogwarts since he had been eleven years old, and secretly he had always hoped to be able to grow old here in peace. Life had been bearable as long as Dumbledore had been around, but after his death, every single day had become Severus' personal nightmare. With all those Death Eaters around him, who had always seen him as one of them, he had felt lost, torn. The temptation to truly fall for the Dark had often been overpowering, and today he couldn't even say exactly why he hadn't given in to it. Had Harry Potter really been important to him?
Severus knew that he had now found a friend in the young man, a friend who had even forgiven him for having killed Dumbledore. Now Harry knew the real reasons. But back then... He had never really liked Harry, for he reminded him all too clearly of James Potter, who had taken everything Severus had ever loved from him. But Voldemort... Severus had always loathed the Dark Lord a little more because by killing Lily, he had finally deprived Snape of any chance of seeing her again and of revealing his true feelings to her. His heart was still burning at the thought of her, and the pain was almost overwhelming. He was filled with satisfaction about the fact that Voldemort was finally gone - and that's why he somehow liked Harry Potter now.
Deep in thought, he strode around the room, his hands touching the familiar objects again and again. Even the smell in these dungeons, which was always a little mouldy, had become a welcome familiarity to him. It was good that he was alone. There were so many memories and thoughts tumbling around in his mind since he had almost died by Voldemort's hand and then been miraculously saved. He couldn't and didn't want to share them with anyone, except with Harry, who could understand these feelings better than anyone else.
After a while of restless pacing, he stopped at the table where he had been sitting as a student, right behind James and Lily. When the Sorting Hat had sent him to Slytherin house on his first day at Hogwarts, he had been sure that this would be the beginning of a long journey of disappointment. And that's exactly how it happened, not by accident but ultimately by his own fault. The biggest mistake of his life, he became painfully aware again, was when he had insulted Lily by calling her a mudblood in a thoughtless moment, in a tantrum. After that day, there had been no turning back - never again. That day his heart had been broken and no one - except Lily - would ever have been able to heal it...
Chewing on his lower lip, Severus tried to regain control of his feelings. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat and tightened his shape. No one was served if he lost himself in the past, if he entirely gave into his self-loathing. No one could bring back what he had gambled away. The only thing left of Lily, of the love of his life, was her only son, of whom he knew he needed him. But sooner or later he feared to lose him too...
With trembling hands but slightly clearer thoughts, Severus started to pack his few personal items. He didn't want to leave anything at Hogwarts that would remind anyone of him.
Next, Severus entered a secret room deep in the dungeons that only he knew existed. No one else knew the spells that locked the door. After being appointed headmaster after Dumbledore's passing, he had brought some items from the professor's previous property here to safety from the Death Eaters. Severus carefully looked around the room and was pleased that everything was still at the exact place where he had left it. He locked the door again carefully and set off to leave.
##
Shannon McAlister watched her patient with astonished curiosity as he read the newspaper she had borrowed from one of the other Aurors. It was a current issue of the Daily Prophet, in which not only the general daily events, the Death Eater Trials and the like were commented on, but in which also the well-known journalist Rita Skeeter had published another chapter of her book "The Dark Lord's Reign of Terror". McAlister had read a bit of it in a book shop, but ultimately found it to be too populist and therefore didn't buy it.
In the meantime, the prisoner was no longer just lying there but had sat on his bunk to read the newspaper. He studied the articles with an ever more astonished look, just as if all of this was entirely new for him. Somehow, she found his strange behaviour despicable because she just didn't want to believe him when he claimed that he couldn't remember all of his horrible deeds. On the other hand, she was fascinated by him. He was almost like a child trying to explore an unknown world.
"They always write about a Voldemort..." he muttered at some point, lowered the newspaper and looked questioningly at the woman who was sitting in a tense posture on the chair opposite his bunk, "...I have a feeling that I've something to do with him... Have I been a follower of this ... this ... ", his voice broke, and he shook his head with an expression that she'd have interpreted as reluctance, even disgust, if she hadn't known exactly who he was.
Was it him at all? This question was quite obvious. He was simply behaving the wrong way. Where had his delusion gone, why didn't he annoy her with his hate speech?
However, Harlan Goodson had left no doubt that the man she had been facing for several days now was really the Dark Lord.
McAlister just didn't know how to answer him. There was so much on her tongue that she wanted to spit in his face, giving in to her hatred. Could it really be that he just couldn't remember?
"They write about you", she managed to answer, "You're the monster they are talking about..."
Voldemort dropped the newspaper and looked at her in frank amazement. In his eyes, she saw a real emotion for the very first time. He looked shaken. Then he backed away a bit, until his back touched the grey wall, and held up his hands defensively as he shook his head vigorously, unable to say anything. He seemed to want to speak several times and then closed his mouth again as if courage had left him.
McAlister was shocked by his behaviour. What was wrong with this man? She just couldn't believe what she saw. It was so bizarre.
He grabbed the newspaper from the floor again, flipped through it hastily, muttering incomprehensible words to himself, as if he were looking for a clue that belied the woman's statement. Suddenly he seemed to have found something, raised his head and looked at her confidently.
"They say that Voldemort is dead! But I'm not dead! So he and I can hardly be the same person!" He cried triumphantly.
Was that relief in his voice? She couldn't believe it...
McAlister found the Ministry's directive that no one should know of the Dark Lord's survival questionable. Still, she could understand the motives. They wanted to keep his existence a secret until the start of his trial. Telling the truth was far too dangerous as long as so many Death Eaters were still roaming freely.
And she didn't understand HIM, no matter how hard she tried. Even if he couldn't remember, he still had to carry his beliefs somewhere. She had been told that he had torn his soul into seven parts, that he had lost everything of his humanity that he might have had at some point. Ultimately, part of his cruelty had resulted from this mistreatment of his soul. He couldn't have simply forgotten everything!
"The Minister thinks it better to keep your survival a secret," she said reluctantly.
McAlister looked him straight in the eye, where she could only see absolute confusion. She stared at him until he broke eye contact and lowered his head.
"This isn't me!" he suddenly shouted at her and jumped up, "That's a lie! That's not me!"
He gave her an angry look and ran madly back and forth in his cell, trying to figure out what this woman was trying to imply on him.
"I'm really not this… this madman..." he then pleaded with her.
In his eyes, she saw what looked like despair. McAlister was amazed by those eyes that looked so different from what she remembered.
His shoulders sagged, and he went back to his bunk to sit down again.
"I've got no idea what this is all about," she stated with an icy voice, "but you have done all of these things without a doubt."
He shook his head vigorously again, jumped up, ran back and forth like a hunted animal, struck the cold rock with his fists, came back, dropped back onto the bunk, and finally buried his face in his hands.
"That's not true!" he then shouted at the woman who seemed to be entirely at ease while she glared at him with her icy gaze. Apparently, she thought he was utterly insane.
She waited patiently until he calmed down a bit. She couldn't talk to him while he was as agitated as that anyway. McAlister was deeply confused by his behaviour, which made her decide it was better to leave him alone with his thoughts for a while. He had to remember!
When he finally lay on his bed, breathing heavily, she slowly got up and looked at him thoughtfully for a while.
"I have to leave now," she announced, "I need to talk to a few people..."
Then he looked at her again, his eyes so full of disbelief. He seemed almost afraid of being alone, of what he might remember.
It sounded like a plea when he called after her: "Please come back, explain all of this to me. I don't understand..."
She only nodded in confirmation because she didn't want to say anything more. The whole situation was so grotesque that she couldn't think of a proper answer. She had to talk to someone about him. Before that, she couldn't possibly return to his cell. He seemed to suspect this; she saw it in his eyes. Slowly, she turned and left the cold, barren cell in which they had put him.
##
Harry was sitting on the beach with Ron and Hermione, enjoying one of the few warm days. All the while, he felt an uncomfortable throbbing in his scar, but he didn't tell his friends about it. He guessed that it must be some kind of phantom pain because the scar had tormented him for so long and had lost its connection to Voldemort so suddenly. It had to be so - there was no other explanation. His arch-enemy was dead after all...
He only listened halfheartedly to Ron and Hermione talking about going back to school in October to make up for the lost year. He didn't mind returning to Hogwarts because, on the one hand, he didn't have any graduation certificate, and on the other, at least he had something meaningful to do there until he decided on any kind of job. In fact, he had always imagined becoming an Auror, but it no longer seemed like a good idea to him. He had had more than enough of Defense against the Dark Arts.
Ron and Hermione were startled when Harry's hand suddenly flew to his scar, and he cried out softly. A sharp pain burned on his forehead so suddenly that he had no chance to fight it. He gritted his teeth and groaned, took a deep breath, exhaled, and slowly calmed down again.
"Harry? What's wrong?" Hermione asked, looking at him in surprise.
"The scar," Harry muttered, "It burns like fire..."
Ron looked at him blankly, "But it shouldn't hurt anymore, now that Voldie has bitten the dust, should it?"
Hermione smiled a little at Ron's words. Some people tended to find something terrible to be less fearful when they made fun of it. Voldie ... She shook her head in amusement.
"No, it shouldn't," Harry grumbled, "But it does anyway!"
He got no chance of relief when another wave of pain hit him. He narrowed his eyes and shrank back. In his mind's eye, he saw a bare grey wall and the cold glare of an unknown woman. He opened his eyes again and gasped in horror. His friends watched him with growing concern.
"Harry?" Hermione spoke cautiously and put a hand on his shoulder, comfortingly. She was extremely concerned about his strange behaviour.
"Voldemort isn't dead!" Harry shouted out his suspicion and horror.
Ron and Hermione looked at him in confusion and disbelief.
"But Harry," Hermione reminded him in her know-it-all voice, "You saw him die. You killed him yourself. We were all witnesses. He's definitely dead!"
Harry shook off the horror, "But then I wonder who I just got a vision from!"
"Maybe it's some Death Eater," said Ron uncomfortably, "I mean, they learned a lot of dark stuff from him, didn't they?"
Harry shook his head, "No, no Death Eater can do that. Only he can! And it also kind of feels like him!"
"But Voldemort is certainly and definitely dead!", Ron stated in utter conviction.
"You said something about a vision," Hermione recalled, "what did you see?"
"A bare, dark, grey room. And a woman who looked directly at me. She had such coldness in her eyes, but also seemed somehow astonished. And he... I've never experienced such a feeling with him. He seemed completely confused, almost desperate..." Harry summarized.
"But if it doesn't feel like him, how do you know it's really him? I mean, besides the fact that he's really dead," said Ron.
Harry suddenly had a very determined expression on his face, "I think I saw a dungeon or something like that. It didn't look like Azkaban, but I'm sure they're keeping him locked up somewhere!"
Hermione knew how to interpret Harry's aggressive look and she shook her head almost in annoyance, "Harry! Please don't start looking for... whoever..."
But she knew that this appeal would go unheeded because Harry had already gotten stuck on the matter. She hadn't recovered from the consuming hunt for the Horcruxes yet. To be honest, she was already looking forward to Hogwarts and the fact that she could finally go back to her studies with no fear in her heart. She wanted to sit in the library again for hours, write essays, and do all the boring things that students did. But she certainly didn't want to be hunting anymore, especially if Harry wanted to start chasing a phantom now. Still, she knew she wasn't going to let her best friend down.
"How are you going to find out where your vision came from? There's definitely more than one dungeon in this country!" Hermione challenged him.
He looked at Hermione a bit helplessly and shrugged his shoulders.
"The best thing to do is to find out who the woman is that I saw..." he said thoughtfully.
##
Severus Snape hurried down the corridors of the old castle, hoping not to be seen by anyone. Only a few people knew that he was still alive. And should he encounter the wrong ones, he could picture his future in clear colours. These colours were rather bleak. However, as is always the case, you're seen when you want to avoid it at all cost.
"Severus?"
Minerva McGonagall's voice echoed through the otherwise deserted hallway, causing Snape to turn around, terrified. Pale as a statue, he stared at his former colleague, unable to react.
"Don't worry," the old lady called out as she hurried to meet him.
It was a long corridor, so it took her a few moments to reach Snape.
"I'm aware that you're alive and I'm glad to see you! I was almost tempted to send an owl to Harry Potter because I suspected he might know where you went!" she then let him know, a little out of breath.
Snape stared at her in astonishment.
"How..." he asked, confused, as he had no idea what the headmistress was actually talking about.
McGonagall smiled knowingly, as she looked at the somewhat troubled man with interest. "At Hogwarts, secrets never stay secrets for long, do they? Besides, I had a very credible source..."
Snape remembered Dumbledore's phoenix and the fact that Harry had met Dumbledore in a kind of in-between world after his death. In principle, he didn't doubt the former headmaster's capabilities, having been one of the most powerful wizards of all time after all - the only one who could really compete with Voldemort.
"Come on," Snape was invited by the new headmistress, "I've got something to tell you that will surely be of interest for you. Let's talk about it over a nice cup of tea!"
Snape struggled to follow the vigorous headmistress, who seemed to be in a hurry. He wondered what was so important and what he needed to learn so urgently that she'd even have started looking for him. He followed her to her office in amazement.
##
Shannon was still shivering as she hurriedly reached the prison director's office. Voldemort's behaviour had deeply confused her. The few moments that he had had eye contact with her had given her the opportunity to look into his mind briefly, in which she had found nothing but fear, loneliness, and confusion. Voldemort either knew ways of occlumency that were unknown to her, or he actually didn't have anything to hide. No matter how she looked at it, she didn't get anywhere. So it was time to inform the prison director.
"He says he can't remember anything? And you believe him?" Goodson exclaimed after McAlister had informed him of the condition of his special prisoner.
He had got up from the frayed armchair behind his desk and was now leaning on his knuckles, watching the Auror suspiciously.
"He doesn't give the impression that he's acting," the Auror replied calmly, crossing her arms, "According to the witnesses, the killing curse hit him head-on. It's incomprehensible to me why he survived the curse again. I have a hard time believing that he really is Voldemort..."
"Don't say that name!" Goodson interrupted her agitatedly, who like most people just couldn't get used to being no longer afraid of that name.
"...that he really is Voldemort," she continued, unimpressed, "That's why I took a quick, if painful, look into his mind. He can't identify with what he reads about himself in the newspaper. He's absolutely convinced that he isn't Voldemort. I don't know what the Avada Kedavra did to him. There has never been a case like his in the whole history of magic."
Goodson leaned against his desk and ran a hand through his thinning hair in exasperation.
"Are you a Legilimens?" he finally asked the woman, who stood in his office like an unapproachable rock in an incredibly wild surf.
"I'm a pretty good Legilimens, but there's such chaos in his mind that we'd need someone who really specializes in accessing the most hidden corners of a mind," she replied, "But I can't think of anyone spontaneously."
The prison director tugged his few hairs and looked at the Auror, challenging her, "Well, then I suppose it's about time for you to tweak your technique a bit, isn't it? Because I can't help you for now."
She shrugged her shoulders, nodded barely, gave him a contemptuous glare of doom, turned and rushed out, her robe billowing. Goodson watched her leave until the door slammed shut, sighing deeply. A part of him was afraid of this woman. If he hadn't loathed the Dark Lord so much, he'd almost have felt sorry for him. But only almost...
##
"Where are you planning to look for this woman?" Hermione asked after Harry had described his vision in detail.
Harry shrugged, "I honestly have no idea ... But the room I saw must be some prison. I mean, no person in their right mind would voluntarily inhabit such a gloomy environment. Not even him, right? I also had the feeling that it was cold in there and a little damp..."
The young man shivered a little as he thought about the unsightly details. In a hole like that, he'd most certainly either go mad or suicidal in no time.
"And the woman had such an icy glare," he went on, "She was certainly not there to bring someone a cup of coffee! I'm sure it was a prison cell!"
Hermione thought for a while before finally saying, "If the person you got the vision from is really held captive, what's the probability that it's an official prison?"
"I don't know," Harry said, "But it didn't look like Azkaban..."
"Azkaban isn't the only wizarding prison," said Ron, at which point his friends looked at him with interest, "I know from Dad. He's no longer working in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office but instead is assigned to the Department of Mysteries. Maybe he knows this woman or at least knows how to find her..."
"Ron, that's an excellent idea!" Hermione exclaimed enthusiastically, "We should definitely ask your dad. That would take us a lot further!"
Harry pensively looked out at the sea. Deep inside, he was afraid of what they might find out. How he'd have liked to leave this unpleasant past behind him, but the vision had felt so shockingly real that it didn't let go of him. Just the thought that his worst enemy could still be alive made him shudder.
The killing curse had hit Voldemort. The young man was absolutely certain of that. He had seen the Elder Wand come loose from Voldemort's hand and witnessed the Dark Lord go down. Harry would never forget the look on Voldemort's disfigured face. Harry had almost enjoyed the pain his enemy had had to endure in the last few seconds of life, even if there was something in his eyes that Harry still couldn't understand.
He couldn't have survived an Avada Kedavra - not again!
"Where's your father right now?" Harry finally snapped out of his confusing thoughts and plunged back into reality.
"I don't know exactly," Ron replied vaguely, "Tending to government affairs I guess, but he should be back tomorrow or the day after... "
"Good," said Harry, "then let's wait for him. Maybe he also knows where Severus is. I'm starting to worry about him..."
Harry had hoped to be able to finally live in peace for a while, but he still didn't seem lucky.