Disclaimer: I am not James Kahn, J.K. Rowling, George Lucas, Ryder Windham, or Brian Daley.
Alarms sound through the Dark Mark. The chaos which resulted from the Dark Lord's death has intensified in light of the Prince's destruction. Across the bridge, Ministry officers and Hit Wizards attempt to evacuate.
Amidst all this, Harry helps his dying father to the Dark Lord's shuttle, barely registering the panic among his enemies. His progress is continually tracked by the spirit of Sirius Black, who at last comes to realize the meaning behind the late Remus Lupin's advice over decades earlier.
Ghost. [aside] He said I was not ready. I thought that meant I was not ready to comprehend details regarding James's conversion to the dark side. But that wasn't it at all. I wasn't ready to forgive James. And he won't be entirely free until I do.
Even as Sirius comes to realize that James still lives, it becomes increasingly clear that James will not live much longer. As Harry hauls his father's body toward a shuttle, Sirius's spirit retreats from the physical plane, prepared to meet James on the other side, when he arrives.
Harry pauses at the ramp to the shuttle.
James. Harry. Help me take this mask off.
Harry. But you'll die.
James. Nothing . . . can stop that now. Just for once . . . let me look on you with my own eyes.
Harry removes the greasy black hair of Severus Snape. Then he removes Snape's pale sallow face with cold black eyes.
The face beneath is pale, scarred, and bald with hazel eyes and round glasses. Whatever remained of James's handsome features were gone after his duel on Fiendfyre.
James smiles with regret, as he considers who he once was, who he became, and what he is now. This brings with it memories of the Wizarding War, of Lily, his mother Euphemia . . . and most especially of Sirius.
[aside] Sirius, my friend . . . and how that friendship turned. Turned I know not how, but got injected nonetheless with some uncaring virulence that festered, until . . . These are memories I want none of, not now. Memories of molten lava, crawling up my back . . . No. This boy has pulled him from that pit — here, now, with this act. This boy is good. The boy is good, and the boy came from me — so there must have been good in me, too.
James smiles again, registering that for the first time he loves not only his son, but himself once more.
Harry cries softly.
Luminous beings are we, Harry. Not this crude matter.
Harry shakes his head, but is speechless.
I'm proud that you've grown into the man I once wanted to be. Now go, my son. Leave me.
Harry. No. You're coming with me. I'll not leave you here. I've got to save you.
James smiles, thinking of Sirius and Albus, wishing to think them for the training they provided for his son.
James. [aside] Perhaps now I shall be reunited with them. [to Harry] You already have, Harry. You were right. You were right about me. Tell your sister . . . you were right.
He dies.
Harry. Father. I won't leave you.
As James's spirit leaves his body, the former Auror is met on the other side by his onetime closest friend, Sirius.
Sirius. James.
James. Sirius? Mate, I'm so sorry. So very, very . . .
Sirius. James. Listen carefully. You are in the netherworld of the Magic. But if you ever wish to revisit corporeal space, then I still have one thing left to teach you. A way to become one with the Magic. If you choose this path to immortality, then you must listen now, before your consciousness fades.
James shakes his head, knowing he is beyond redemption.
James. But Professor . . . why me?
Sirius. Because you ended the horror, James. Because you fulfilled the prophecy. Because you were, and are, the Chosen One. Because I was wrong about you. And because I am your friend.
With thoughts about being able to see his children once more, James smiles.
James. Thank you, mate.
Exit all.
