The Man Who Lived

Chapter 2

"Wake up, my most valuable player," Harry heard whispered in his ear. "Wake up."

He mumbled in his sleep, but deep in the recesses of his mind, he could feel a familiar, petite figure straddle his body.

"Come on, sweety, it's time to get up."

He felt warm breath on his cheek followed by soft kisses on his neck.

A half hour later, Harry and Ginny finally got out of bed and took a shower. By the time they made it downstairs, the sun was up and the Daily Prophet was on the table. On most days, Kreacher would have breakfast already made and waiting for them, but not on Sundays. For the past several years, the Weasley children and their significant others would meet at the Burrow for breakfast on Sunday mornings. Fred's death had brought the close-knit family together even more than before, and the weekly gatherings had become a new tradition. Sunday mornings had been picked mostly due to Harry and Ginny's jobs. As professional Quidditch players – Ginny was a chaser on the Holyhead Harpies – one or both of them always had matches on weekend afternoons or evenings, depending upon that week's schedule. And given that all the other Weasley adults and spouses worked during the week, Sunday morning was simply the best time for everyone to get together.

Harry made both of them a cup of coffee while Ginny spread the Daily Prophet on the kitchen table and began reading. A few minutes later, as he walked towards her with a steaming cup in each hand, he noticed that she was still on the front page. But she didn't seem to be reading. She was just staring at it. He sat down next to her, glancing at the newspaper. At the top was a headline in giant, bold print: "The Boy Who Won!" Below that, taking up the rest of the top-half of the front page, was a photo of a smiling Harry being carried on the shoulders of Burley and Barnabas. He sat Ginny's cup of coffee on the table and looked at her. She was still just staring at the photo, but she didn't have a smile on her face.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"I'm a lousy person."

"What are you talking about? No, you're not."

"I am."

"Why do you say that?"

She glanced at Harry, but then quickly dropped her eyes back to the photo on the front page.

"Because when I first saw the headline and the photo, I was really happy for you, but then…out of nowhere, I thought, 'I wish it was me.'" She swallowed and then added softly, "Do you think I'm awful?"

Harry reached out and grasped her hand.

"No, I don't, Ginny."

"You should," she said, before finally turning to look him in the eyes. "How can I be both happy for you and jealous of you at the same time?"

"I guess because you're human. If I'm honest, I'd probably feel the same way if the tables were reversed."

"You would?"

"Probably so. I think every Quidditch player that's worth his salt is wishing that they'd won the Cup last night. It just means that you're a competitor."

Harry knew for sure that Ginny took the game very seriously. With her fiery temper, it usually took her a day to get over any loss. And, during the season, whenever the Cannons had beaten the Harpies, instead of coming home with Harry to Grimmauld Place, she had stayed at the flat that she shared with a teammate in Holyhead for the next twenty-four hours until she felt the frustration subside. Harry hadn't minded. He understood and was happy not to have her take her frustrations out on him. Even more so, however, he was incredibly grateful that Ginny was a chaser and not a seeker, like himself. As competitive as they both were, he didn't think that their relationship could handle the strain if they were forced to go head-to-head against one another for the snitch.

"Thanks, Harry, for being so understanding. I'm not sure I would be."

Before Harry could respond, he heard his name being called from behind him.

"Potter! You there, Potter?!"

A rough voice was emanating from the fireplace on the other side of the kitchen.

"Who is that?" asked Ginny.

"Sounds like Bulldog."

Ginny's eyes went wide, and she squeezed his hand. "Coach Barker? Harry, do you think…?"

Harry gave a small smile. "Maybe."

The two of them hurried to the fireplace.

"Coach, I'm here," said Harry.

"'Bout time. I'm coming through."

The two of them moved aside, and a moment later, a short, stocky wizard with an unlit cigar between his teeth stepped into the kitchen. Clifton 'Bulldog' Barker was bald on top with droopy jowls and was chomping away on his cigar. He was also the coach for the English National Quidditch Team.

"Weasley," said the man with a curt nod of his head toward Ginny.

"Good morning, Coach," greeted Harry. "Care for a cup of coffee?"

"Already had two, but another won't hurt," he answered.

"Take mine, there on the table. I haven't touched it yet."

After barreling over to the table, he grabbed the cup and then scowled at the Daily Prophet.

"I'll get right to the point," he said, turning toward Harry and Ginny. "You read Beekman's article on page two yet?"

Harry shook his head. Newsom 'Nuisance' Beekman was the lead Quidditch reporter for the Daily Prophet. He wasn't as duplicitous and scheming as Rita Skeeter, but it was close. With his plethora of sources and informants throughout the Quidditch community, he had a knack for digging up dirt and breaking stories. He wasn't called 'Nuisance' for nothing.

"Well, good. I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I thought you should hear the news directly from me first instead of reading it in that rag," he said, jerking his thumb towards the paper on the table. "Anyhoo, I came here to let you know you're on the team…"

Harry felt Ginny squeeze his hand and suck in her breath.

"…as long as you're healthy. How's the shoulder?"

"Feels great," said Harry, doing his best to suppress his smile.

"You wouldn't lie to me now, would you, Potter?" growled out Barker.

Harry laughed.

"To make the national team? Damn straight, I would."

Barker's mouth twitched.

"Figured as much. Come by the stadium tomorrow, 9 am. After your fall last night, I'll want the healers to give you full physical before making anything official – despite what Nuisance says."

"Will do," said Harry.

As soon as Coach Barker left the kitchen via the floo network, Ginny screamed and jumped into Harry's arms.

"This is so freaking amazing!" she squealed in between kissing him. "You did it, Harry! You did it. You're going compete in the World Cup!"

Harry kissed her back and smiled.

"Life is pretty good."

oOo

"So, what did you want to discuss?" asked Hermione. Then, she smiled. "Nervous about the wedding?"

Earlier at breakfast, George had asked Ginny if she and Harry had finally set a date. She'd informed the family that they'd actually decided on a date that morning after Coach Barker's visit. They were going to get married in August, after the World Cup was over.

"Hopefully," she'd said, "it can be a double celebration."

The two of them – Harry and Hermione - were sitting alone on the front porch swing of the Burrow, the Weasley family home. Breakfast had concluded a couple of hours ago, and now everyone was either chatting, competing in wizarding board games in the den, or playing in the back yard (Harry could hear Teddy and Victoire's laughter coming from the other side of the house). Well, everyone was doing those things except for Ron, who was still a bit hung-over from the previous evening. He was napping in his old bed upstairs.

"No," he answered with his own smile. "I'm not nervous about the wedding, at all. I actually can't wait to make Ginny my wife."

"Okay. So, what's up?"

"Do you remember the night we visited my parents' gravesite, when we were hunting for horcruxes back in seventh year?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"Are you joking? How could I forget? We had to fight off Nagini, remember?"

"No, I'm not talking about the fight. I meant my parents' actual gravesite. The epitaph that was written on their tombstone - do you remember that?"

"I know you think I have a photographic memory, but I don't actually. So, no, I don't remember what it said. Why?"

"It says, 'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.'"

Hermione nodded. "That's right. What about it?"

"Well, I was confused about its meaning, and you told me that it meant 'living beyond death.' Remember?"

"I do now. Now that you've mentioned it."

"Well, my question is – how did you know that? Had you seen that saying somewhere before? Is it a line from a poem?"

"No, it's not from a poem. I'm not hundred percent sure, but I'm almost positive it's from the Bible."

Harry immediately furrowed his brow.

"The Bible? You can't be serious. My parents were Christians?"

"Well, I've never read – or heard - that they were, but you'd think they'd have to be if they wanted a verse from the Bible on their headstone."

Harry didn't say anything for a moment, but a small sneer came to his lips.

Hermione reached over and grabbed Harry's hand.

"Are you okay? You don't look happy."

"I'm not. The thought of my parents being…Christians…it kind of puts a sour taste in my mouth."

"Really? Why?"

"I haven't had a lot of pleasant experiences with Christians. My aunt and uncle were Christians…or claimed to be. Who knows if they really were?"

"Oh," said Hermione softly, still clutching his hand.

Harry looked away from her and slightly shook his head at the memories.

"When I was little, they'd always leave the house on Sunday mornings for a few hours. For the longest time, I never knew where they went. I just knew that it meant I had to be locked in the cupboard while they were gone. Later, when I was older, I figured out that they were going to church. They also had a giant Bible on a shelf in the living room. It was open in the middle with a little ribbon as a marker. But I know they never read it because one of my many chores was dusting the entire house, and that little book mark never changed. I must have dusted those same two pages for a decade.

"Over the years, in primary school, I'd hear some kids talking about church and what-not. I heard some say that Christians were supposed to be kind and generous, which confused me because the Dursleys were a lot of things – but kind and generous they definitely weren't. Later on, I heard some other kids talk badly about Christians. Called them hypocrites. Said that they like to act holier-than-thou but that they're no different than the rest of us. Worse, actually, because at least the rest of us don't pretend to be something we're not. And hearing that made sense to me. It fit with my experience with the Dursleys.

"Anyway…not that I've met many – as far as I know – but I don't think I've ever met a Christian that I liked. If I did, then I didn't know that they were. So, the thought of my parents being Christian just rubs me the wrong way."

"There are some nice ones," said Hermione. "My maternal grandparents are Christian, and they're very kind. And I'm sure that you've met more than you think. I think most of them simply don't talk about it much."

"Maybe," said Harry, but it was obvious he wasn't convinced.

"What's all this about, Harry? Why the sudden interest?"

"It's nothing really. I just couldn't sleep last night so I went for a walk. Ended up at their gravesite and saw the epitaph."

"Okay, but I know you've visited there several times over the years. Why are just now asking about it?"

Harry made eye-contact with his best friend but didn't say anything at first. He wasn't sure that he wanted to tell her about his feelings because the truth was that he still didn't fully understand them himself. His feeling of emptiness – as if his life was missing something – didn't make any more sense in the light of day than it did last night.

"Harry, you might as well tell me," she said with a smile. "You know me. I'll just keep pestering you until you give in."

Harry gave her a grin. "Fine."

He then proceeded to tell her everything about the previous evening. When he was done, she was smiling and gave a small laugh.

"What?" he asked, his brows furrowed. "This is funny?"

"Well, no, not the 'feeling empty' part."

"Then what?"

"If you would've told me this back when we were at Hogwarts, I never would have believed it, but you – Harry Potter – have actually turned into a type-A personality."

"I don't know what that is, Hermione. Type-A?

"It just means that your incredibly driven and goal-oriented. Constantly needing to achieve things. First, it was being an Auror. Then, being more active on the Wizengamot. Then, professional Quidditch. Now, this thing with your parents."

Harry immediately thought about the piece of paper that he'd kept taped to his mirror for the past thirty months. The piece of paper that he'd looked at every morning as motivation. He acknowledged to himself that her point may have been valid.

"Yeah, well, Hogwarts was a long time ago, Hermione. I'd like to think that I've changed…actually matured some since then."

"Oh, you definitely have. But face it, Harry. You're just not happy now unless you've got something to prove. Some goal to strive for."

"So, you think that's it? That's why I was feeling the way I was last night? Because I'd just achieved my goal of winning a championship. So, I'm now looking for a new one?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Harry didn't speak for a moment, instead thinking about everything she had just said. He had to admit that she could be right. Heck, she was usually right about most things. He then sighed and shook his head.

"Even if you are right – about me being type-A and that's the reason I was feeling empty last night - it still doesn't answer what a verse from the Bible is doing on my parent's tombstone."

"That's true."

"You said that you're not a hundred percent sure that it's from the Bible. So, what makes you think it is?"

"From sermons I've heard."

"Wait – you're a Christian?"

Hermione gave him a pitying look.

"Harry, I think you know me well enough that you'd know if I was a Christian or not."

"Okay. But…you used to go to church?"

"It's not that surprising. I'd argue that it's more common than you think. I think a lot of Muggles our age went to church with their parents when they were young but then grew out of it."

"I didn't know your parents were Christian."

"Well, I'm not sure that they are. I mean, if you asked them if they are Anglican, they'd say yes. But the truth is that they're not really 'practicing' ones. When I was growing up – even now – we only went to church on Christmas and Easter. It was something that they did with their parents so it just kind of became a tradition for us, too. However, whenever I'd go visit my grandparents, they always took me to church with them. So, between that and the dozens of Christmas and Easter services with my parents, I've heard enough sermons in my life to recognize when something sounds Christian. And the epitaph on your parents' tombstone just sounds like a verse I've heard before."

"Have you ever read the Bible yourself?" he asked, almost positive that he already knew the answer.

"Actually, no. At least, not all of it."

"What?" he said with a small grin. "Hermione Granger not reading a book from cover to cover?"

"Ha, ha," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"What made you stop?"

Suddenly, she got a serious look on her face.

"Honestly…it just seemed like nonsense to me, even as a little girl. I mean, don't get me wrong – there are principles within the Bible that I agree with. For example, the idea of treating people with, as you said, kindness and generosity. I'm even willing to believe that there probably was a real-life Jesus that lived two-thousand years ago. And he was probably a very wise and kind teacher, kind of like Gandhi. But nothing I read ever convinced me that he was actually God in the flesh. That just seemed like silliness to me. So, eventually, I stopped reading it. I mean, if I want to read fiction, I can find something else more to my taste."

Harry was peering at Hermione with furrowed brows.

"So, that's what Christians really believe – that Jesus was God?

"Yes, they do."

Harry knew virtually nothing about Christianity, but he did at least know that it involved some guy named Jesus. He'd heard the words "Jesus Christ!" yelled out on the playgrounds of his primary school more times than he could count. He also knew that Jesus was supposedly born on Christmas, but he was less sure what Easter was. He thought it had something to do with the man's death – though why anyone would choose to celebrate that he didn't know. He nodded his head a few times, lost in thought, pondering everything they'd just discussed. He then brought his eyes up to meet Hermione's.

"I know that we exchange gifts on Christmas day in the Wizarding world, but…do you actually know of a single wizard or witch who's truly a Christian? Even one?"

Hermione thought for a moment before shaking her head.

"No. I don't."

"Me either. So, then what in the world is a line from a Christian book doing on my parents' headstone?"

"I don't know, but I could help you if you'd like. You know how much I like to research," she said with a smile.

Harry smiled back and gave her hand a squeeze.

"I know, and I appreciate it, but I think this is something I want to do on my own. It's kind of personal. But I'll let you know if I need some help, okay?"

oOo

Harry was in a second-floor bedroom at Grimmauld Place. He'd just placed several dusty boxes on the foot of the bed. On the top of each box, in his handwriting, were the words: Potter stuff – Godric's Hollow.

After he'd quit the Auror Department, back when he was still searching for some kind of purpose in his life, he'd successfully petitioned the Ministry of Magic to drop the protective wards surrounding his parents' cottage in Godric's Hollow – at least for a few hours so that he could enter his old house and rummage around for keepsakes. Unfortunately, there hadn't been much present of truly sentimental value. He wasn't sure if the place had been looted prior to the Ministry arriving and turning the house into, first, a crime scene and, later, a war memorial. The truly sentimental items – the photographs – he'd already placed into a photo album. The other things – a few items of his parents' clothes, a small collection of books, his father's pipe, and other knick-knacks – he'd packed up in boxes.

Harry pulled the lids off each box until he found the two that he was looking for. The two that were filled with an assortment of tomes. He began removing each book and checking the spine or cover before carefully placing it on the bedspread. There were no personal journals or diaries from either of his parents, only texts dealing with various magical disciplines, like Transfiguration or Potions. After ten minutes, he sighed as he looked at the stack of books on the bed. He hadn't thought that he'd find one – for he believed that he would have remembered its presence – but there wasn't a Bible anywhere in the collection. He was no closer to figuring out how a Christian saying had wound up on his parents' tombstone.

A few moments later, he shook his head at the absurdity of what he was going to do next. He knew that, right now, the most important aspect of the investigation was to actually verify if Hermione's guess was accurate. Because if the epitaph wasn't from the Bible, then he was wasting his time.

With a few swishes of his wand, he quickly repacked the books in their boxes and then headed downstairs. He found Ginny in the den, curled up on the couch with a cup of tea and reading 'Witch's Weddings' magazine.

"I'm going out for a while."

"Okay. Where to?"

"To Muggle London. I've got to buy a Bible."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted saying them. Because he knew that she'd ask why.

She looked at him strangely.

"A Bible? Why?"

Harry loved Ginny – obviously, if he wanted to marry her – and he never liked keeping things from her. However, he also knew her very well. He was very aware of both her insecurities and her fiery temper. The temper she'd always possessed, but her insecurity – specifically about their relationship - was new, only coming about after he'd broken up with her back in '99, when he'd also quit the DMLE. Thus, he knew that he shouldn't tell everything about the previous evening.

"I couldn't sleep last night," he started and then went on to explain about the mysterious epitaph on his parents' headstone. What he didn't mention was the 'hollow' feeling that was the cause of his insomnia. He assumed that if he told her that, then, as his fiancée, she would somehow take it personally. As if she wasn't enough for him. And, unfortunately, her insecurities usually manifested themselves as anger. The last thing he wanted was to get into a fight with her over nothing.

"Huh, that is strange," she said when he'd finished explaining. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"Nah," he answered with a smile. "I'll leave you to your planning."

oOo

Harry was completely overwhelmed. He was standing in the 'Religion & Spirituality' section of Waterstones – the largest bookstore in London – and staring at shelf after shelf of Bibles. They came in all sizes, with covers of differing styles and colors. But most confusing to Harry were all the different versions: King James Version, New King James Version, New International Version, English Standard Version, New Revision Standard Version, and so on and so on. He had no idea what all the different versions meant or which one he should choose. Finally, not knowing what else to do, he simply picked one at random from the shelf. It had maroon, leather-like cover with gilded-edged pages, and compared to some of the other Bibles, it was relatively small – only a little more than an inch thick.

When he opened the book, his eyes went wide. The printing on the page was tiny, and the pages were incredibly thin. When he flipped to the back, he was astonished to see that it contained over thirteen hundred pages. How in the world would he ever be able to find a single line in a book with that many words? This was going to take him forever. Maybe he'd ask Hermione for help after all. But, then, an idea came to mind.

He took the Bible to the front and, after paying for it, asked the clerk if the bookstore also had an internet café.

"A café, yes. But it doesn't have computers. But there's an internet café just down the street, on the corner."

Harry thanked her and quickly left.

A lot had changed in Harry's life in the past four years – ever since defeating Voldemort. As an adult, he was no longer under the ridiculous rules of the Dursleys, Hogwarts, or the Ministry of Magic. He could travel where he pleased – when he pleased. And during that time – especially after quitting the DMLE – he'd spent countless hours exploring the Muggle world, particularly London. Walking the streets and visiting the shops had been a great adventure for him, not to mention an incredible relief whenever he wanted to escape the sometimes-annoying fame that he carried within the Wizarding world. And during those travels, he'd eventually become familiar with the world of the internet.

Harry easily found the café and paid for some time on one of the computers. It had actually been Hermione who had introduced him to the internet a few years back. She had learned of it from her parents and, of course, had been amazed by it. Having access to so much knowledge had been like entering into a land of eternal bliss for the book-worm. He opened up a search engine and typed in the epitaph. An instant later, he received several hits. Not surprisingly, Hermione had been correct. The saying was indeed a line from the Bible: 1st Corinthians 15:26.

He quickly opened his Bible to the front, to the table of contents. He ran his finger over dozens of strange sounding names until, finally, towards the end, he found what he was looking for. He flipped to the first page of 1 Corinthians and immediately saw that there were various section headings in bold print and also large, bold numbers that, he assumed, signified chapter breaks. He turned to chapter 15 and then discovered that there were small, superscript numbers every few sentences. He scanned his eyes past them until he came to the number 26. And there it was – in black and white. It wasn't exactly word-for-word like the epitaph on his parents' headstone, but it was close enough. 'The last enemy to be destroyed is death.'

Harry read the words several times to himself, hoping that he could finally understand what they meant. But no new insight came to him. His eyes scanned to the left side of the page, and he saw that there was a heading for the section that he was in: 'The Resurrection of the Dead.'

"The Resurrection of the Dead?" he whispered to himself. "What – like the Resurrection Stone? Does the Bible discuss the Deathly Hallows?"

Did his parents know about the Hallows? Was the epitaph an allusion to the Resurrection Stone? He knew that his father's invisibility cloak had been one of the Hallows, but when he'd last spoken to Dumbledore's ghost in that mysterious vision, the man hadn't intimated at all that his parents were aware of it. In fact, if he recalled correctly, he'd swear that Dumbledore stated that he was the one to discover the true identity of the cloak right before his parents' deaths.

Harry was full of questions, and, at the moment, he only knew of one thing he could do in order to answer them. He began to read, starting with the first line in the current section. It took him a couple of minutes to finish, and when he got to the end, his brow was furrowed deeply.

"What in Merlin's name does all that mean?" he asked himself softly.

He thought that he understood the main gist of the section. The writer had gone to great lengths trying to convince the readers that Christ – he kept using the name Christ instead of Jesus – had been resurrected from the dead. But there was so much that Harry didn't understand. Hermione had told him that Christians believe that Jesus was God. So, if Christ was God, how could he die? And if Christ was God, then why did the writer refer to him as being different than God the Father? Did that mean that there was more than one God? And what did the name 'Christ' even mean? At first, he thought it was Jesus' last name. However, that couldn't be the case because in verse 31 the writer had referred to him as 'Christ Jesus,' with it in front of Jesus' name instead behind.

Additionally, Harry still didn't understand the verse in question – the epitaph. In the verse preceding it, the writer claimed that Christ would have to reign until he put all of his enemies under his feet. And that the last enemy to be destroyed would be death. But that didn't make any sense to Harry because, as far as he knew, Jesus was dead. Wasn't that what Easter was all about – memorializing his death? So, clearly Jesus hadn't destroyed death at all. Of course, the writer was insistent that Jesus had resurrected. But if so, if Jesus was alive, then where was he now? Or had he died again later? And if he died again later, then how exactly had he destroyed death?

Honestly, the only line that truly made sense to Harry came toward the end of the section: 'Do not be misled: Bad company corrupts good character.' That sentiment he not only understood but actually agreed with.

"Why can't the rest of it be so straight-forward?" he asked himself.

He sighed deeply when he realized that if he truly wanted to understand what it all meant, then he was probably going to have to read the entire thing. If not the entire Bible, then at least the entire book of 1st Corinthians. And the thought of doing that was quite daunting. He sighed again, realizing that he didn't even know what 'Corinthians' meant.

Harry nodded his head, telling himself that, as perplexed as he was, the afternoon hadn't been a complete waste. He had at least confirmed Hermione's guess that the epitaph was a line from the Bible. But he was no closer to answering the question of why his parents would place it on their headstone. He knew that there were only a couple of people he could ask. Hopefully, one of them would have some clue. Otherwise, he was stumped.

The next stop in the investigation was Hogwarts, which brought a small scowl to his face. He just hoped that he wouldn't have to speak with Dumbledore.