The Man Who Lived
Chapter 3
The students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were home for the summer, a circumstance for which Harry was quite grateful. After last night's championship match, he knew that he probably would have been surrounded by well-wishers and autograph-seekers otherwise. Normally, he always did his best to accommodate his fans, but, at the moment, he had other priorities.
He was standing at the school's front gates, waiting in the late afternoon sun for Hagrid to arrive. He'd sent a Patronus to the groundskeeper's hut earlier, informing him that he wanted to visit, and was waiting for the half giant to come open the locked gate. He figured that he'd give his friend a few more minutes, and if he hadn't shown up by then, then he'd try contacting Professor McGonagall instead.
As he waited, he realized that he couldn't remember the last time he's seen Hagrid. The thought made him feel both sad and a bit guilty, for Hagrid had always been one of his greatest supporters. Always full of encouragement. He'd always send Hagrid a gift on Christmas day, but he figured he could count on one hand the actual number of times that the two of them had seen each other in the last four years. Harry just hadn't made it back to Hogwarts much in that time. Mostly because, overall, the school didn't hold fond memories for him anymore. Now, whenever he thought of it, the predominate memory was that of the final battle against Voldemort's forces and, specifically, of how many of his close friends had died that day. He wondered how many of them would still be alive if Dumbledore, instead of keeping secrets, had just been completely honest with him about everything as soon as he'd discovered it.
Harry was broken from his thoughts by the sound of barking. He looked up to see Hagrid walking his way with an enormous smile showing through his bushy beard. But instead of seeing his familiar pet, Fang, walking beside him, there was a puppy running circles around him and between his legs, barking and playfully nipping at his ankles.
"This is a heckuva surprise, Harry," said Hagrid, unlocking the gate. "It's great ter see yeh."
The two friends embraced while the puppy leapt up on Harry's legs.
Harry bent down and petted the dog, which kept doing its best to lick Harry's hand. The puppy looked to be the same breed as Fang, and though it may have been only one-tenth the size of Fang, it also had ten times the energy.
"And who's this?" asked Harry, struggling to keep the mutt from jumping up and licking his face.
"Ah, that little tyke is Rufus. I got him a couple er weeks ago."
Harry laughed as the puppy continued to lick him.
"And how is Fang handling this non-stop ball of energy?"
Suddenly, Hagrid's smile faltered.
"Well, Fang, he passed on this past winter."
Harry immediately stood.
"I'm sorry, Hagrid. I didn't know."
"'S'alright, Harry. How would yeh? Yer a busy man, with professional Quidditch an' all. Besides, ol' Fang had a good life. Lived almost twenny years, he did. An' now I'm trainin' Rufus here ter take his place. I tell yeh – he's gonna be a great guard dog, 'cause he's as brave as Fang ever was. I'll have him patrollin' the grounds an' keepin' everyone safe in no time."
Harry wouldn't have considered Hagrid's old Boarhound to be all that brave. In fact, if he remembered correctly, Fang had been a bit cowardly when it came to creatures from the Forbidden Forest. But Harry kept that thought to himself. He knew Hagrid often had a different take regarding his pets than others did.
"I'm sure he'll be great, Hagrid," he said instead.
The two of them made their way up to Hagrid's hut, catching up on their lives while they walked. It had been well over a year since they'd last seen each other so they had a lot to discuss – including Harry's Quidditch career and his recent engagement to Ginny. A while later, over some of Hagrid's infamous tea and rock-cakes, Harry finally got around to the question that had brought him there.
"Christians?" asked Hagrid. "Well, I didn't know yer parents that well when they was students here, but I got ter know 'em when they joined the Order. I don' recall 'em ever talkin' 'bout religion."
"And you don't know anything about the headstone on their grave?"
"Don't think I do. Professor Dumbledore, he'd be the one ter ask 'bout that, I suspect. I figure he made those kinda arrangements back then – 'specially fer Order members who didn't have no other family. But I don't know fer sure."
Harry clenched his jaws at that news.
"Do you know if Professor McGonagall is at the school today?"
"Should be. I saw her earlier."
The two friends spoke for a few minutes longer before Harry finally said his goodbyes to both Hagrid and Rufus. After exiting the hut, he drew his wand and cast a Patronus, the white light fighting back the encroaching darkness.
"Hey, Professor. It's Harry. Sorry for the short notice, but I'm here at the school. Do you have time for a visit – maybe at the obelisk?"
Immediately, his glowing Patronus stag leapt away, heading for the Headmistress' office.
At that point, Harry began walking back towards the school, toward a tall, granite obelisk that had been erected on the grounds in front of the castle a few months after Harry's defeat of Voldemort. It was a memorial to all those who had died at the Battle of Hogwarts, their names etched into the large, circular base. Harry hadn't really wanted to meet McGonagall at the obelisk, but he certainly didn't want to meet in her office either, and the obelisk had simply been the first place that had come to mind.
He was almost back to the castle when another Patronus – in the form of the cat – approached him.
"Harry, of course, I'd love to visit," came the Headmistress' voice. "I'll meet you at the obelisk shortly."
A moment later, he arrived at the war memorial. Atop the circular base was a thirty-foot-tall obelisk that ended in a point. Chiseled into each side of the structure was the phrase, 'In absentia lucis, tenebrae vincunt.'
"In the absence of light, darkness prevails," Harry whispered to himself, remembering Minister Shacklebolt's words from the dedication ceremony.
At the very top of the obelisk, just above the point, shone a three-foot-tall magical flame – its white light forever burning. It had been charmed to be resistant against both the elements and other magical spells, and, thus, it was never extinguished.
Though the sun had just set, the area was illuminated by the white flame above. Despite that, Harry cast a small Lumos spell anyway. He brought his wand close to the base of the obelisk and looked at the names carved into the stone, his eyes stopping on the those of his close friends: Fred Weasley, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and so many more. As he read all the names, he could feel his anger start to rise. Anger at Voldemort, his Death Eaters, the incompetence of the Ministry, even with Dumbledore. He also felt incredible guilt. Even though, rationally speaking, he knew that he'd done all he could and the best he could at the time, there was a part of him that still felt responsible for his friends' deaths. If he could have just figured things out faster back then, then maybe he could have defeated Voldemort before he ever got to Hogwarts. Then, perhaps, his friends would still be alive. George would still have his twin brother and partner. Teddy would still have his parents. Four years later, their deaths still weighed on him. Not constantly, not even every day. But whenever the thought of them came to mind, the feelings of guilt always accompanied it, and he feared they always would.
It was then that he heard footsteps behind him, and a moment later, he saw Professor McGonagall step into his peripheral vision. She didn't say a word, and the two of them stood there in silence for a while.
"Death sucks," he said softly after a long sigh. "It's so…permanent."
"Indeed."
"I never even got to say goodbye to them," he said, his eyes scanning his friends' names again.
He turned his head, glancing at his former Head of House.
"Do you believe in heaven? A real heaven? A place beyond the here and now?"
"I don't know, Harry. But I know that I want it to exist."
He nodded and turned back towards the obelisk.
"Me, too. A place where you never have to say goodbye. That sounds like heaven to me."
"That would be wonderful." After a moment's pause, she continued. "I get the sense, Harry, that this isn't a social visit. That you're not here to simply discuss your victory over my Magpies last night. Congratulations, by the way."
He turned his body to face her and gave her small smile.
"Thanks," he answered before adding, "and you're right. That's not why I'm here. I know you were their Head of House and their Transfiguration instructor for seven years, but just how well did you know my parents?"
"Well, I'd like to think that I knew them as well as any faculty member here."
"Did you ever consider them friends?"
"Friends…no. Perhaps if they hadn't died so young, but…I wasn't an official member of the Order of Phoenix back then so I didn't really associate with them much after they graduated. Plus, it's actually quite rare for teachers to become friends with their pupils. Sure, there's a fondness, but true friendship, typically no. There's always that teacher-pupil dynamic that usually interferes with friendship. Even after all those decades of working with Albus, there was a part of me that always viewed him as my old Transfiguration professor instead of as a colleague and friend. Why do you ask?"
"Do you know if my parents were Christians?"
She said that, as far as she knew, they weren't. And when Harry then asked about why they'd choose a line from the Bible for their headstone's epitaph, her answer was similar to Hagrid's.
"I really couldn't say, Harry. But Albus might know. We could ask his painting."
Harry clenched his jaws and exhaled slowly. Talking to Dumbledore, even his painting, was the last thing he wanted to do. It was why he'd requested that McGonagall meet him at the obelisk instead of going to her office. Now, however, he didn't see what other choice he had, for he really had no one else to talk to. Those who had known his parents best – Sirius, Remus, and Snape – were all dead, and none of them had left behind a talking painting.
"Okay," said Harry with a sigh. "Let's go see what the man has to say."
As they made their way through the castle, they mostly spoke of Quidditch – specifically the previous night's match. McGonagall loved the sport and peppered him with a dozen questions. But he didn't mind. Harry knew that, if not for her intervention in his first year, he probably wouldn't be a professional player today. He owed her a lot.
Once they arrived at the door to her office, Harry paused and spoke.
"Before we go in, I need to ask you a favor. I also need to tell you some things. Things you may not like to hear. But things that are necessary for you to understand the favor I'm going to ask of you."
"Okay," said the Headmistress, a small look of concern showing through her normal mask of stoicism.
Harry paused for a moment, deciding just how specific he wanted to get. He figured that he'd speak in general terms at first, and then, if she wanted details, he'd divulge those at that point.
"Towards the end, Professor Dumbledore admitted that he'd kept a lot of things from me. Important things. Details that – I believe – would have made a difference in my fight against Voldemort."
"What? Are you implying that Albus didn't want you to win? That's preposterous!"
"No, I'm not saying that. And I'm not saying that he ever outright lied to me – at least that I know of. But there's no doubt that the man liked keeping secrets, and him doing so made some already difficult circumstances that much harder. He believed he knew best - about everything. Including whether or not I needed to know information that directly affected me. I know you revere him, but…you know that's how he was, right?"
She gave a short nod of her head.
"He did prefer to keep his cards close to the vest. That is true."
"Right. So, the bottom line is that I don't trust him – or even the memories in his painting – to tell the full truth about anything I ask him. I think he'd enjoy playing the puppet master from even beyond the grave. But it's my understanding that the former Headmasters are, more or less, compelled or required to assist the current one. Is that correct?"
"It is."
"So, my favor is this - that, when we go in there, you'll tell him to be completely forthcoming when answering my questions. Would you do that for me, please? I mean, I'm only going to be asking things about my parents – not the secrets to Hogwarts' defenses or the location of the Philosopher's Stone."
He said that last with a small smile.
The tiniest of smiles reached her lips, as well.
"Very well, Harry. I do understand your concerns. I'll request that Albus answer your questions about your parents in a most forthright manner."
"Thank you, Professor."
At that point, McGonagall opened the door, and the two entered her office. A moment later, he heard a familiar voice.
"Harry, my boy, it's so good to see," said the Dumbledore within the painting. "It's been ages."
The 'my boy' comment bristled his feathers a bit, but Harry decided to swallow his first response. He knew that he'd have a better chance of getting his questions answered if he kept things civil.
"Hello, Professor," he responded neutrally.
"What brings you to Hogwarts, Harry? Unlike Miss Granger – or should I say, Mrs. Weasley, now – you rarely visit."
"I actually came to speak with you."
"Is that so?" asked Dumbledore, his blue eyes sparkling.
Harry then glanced at the Headmistress, who cleared her throat.
"Yes, Albus, Harry has a few questions to ask you about his parents. Please consider his questions as if they've come from me. Understood?"
The sparkle immediately left Dumbledore's eyes. He wasn't a stupid man and understood the implication of the request.
"Harry…did you and I have a falling out before I died?"
Harry sighed. He really didn't want to get into this.
"A small one."
"What did I do?"
Dumbledore sounded genuinely contrite.
"Look, no disrespect, Professor Dumbledore, but I didn't come here to discuss our relationship. I really just need a couple of quick questions answered – if that's okay with you."
Harry could see the hurt in Dumbledore's eyes. A sad smile came to the old man's face.
"Of course, Harry, of course. The Wizarding world owes you a debt than can never be repaid. The least I can do is answer your questions about your parents. What exactly do you want to know?"
"Do you know if my parents were Christians?"
"And why do you ask, Harry?"
Harry clenched his jaws and exhaled slowly.
"Could you please not answer my question with a question, Professor?"
"Albus," said McGonagall.
"I apologize," he said, with a smile. "A force of habit, I must admit. Now, to your question – I suppose that they could have been. Though, if they were, it would be a surprise to me as I never heard them speak on the topic at all. And, as far as I knew – and I knew most everything – they never attended mass or church services, either. So, while I can't answer with a hundred percent accuracy, I don't believe that they were Christian."
"Then, how and why did they choose a Bible verse as the epitaph for their tombstone?"
Suddenly, the old Dumbledore smile came to the Headmaster's lips.
"Now that, my boy, is a question to which I do know the answer. The fact is - they didn't choose their epitaph."
Harry peered hard at the still smiling Dumbledore.
"Do you know how it got on there then?"
"I do."
Harry's breath caught in his throat. Finally, he was going to discover the truth about the mystery. Somehow, Harry had always known that Dumbledore would be the one with the knowledge.
"Then, could you please tell me everything you know about it, leaving nothing out."
Immediately, the smile fell from Dumbledore's face.
"Leaving nothing out?"
"Yes, Albus," answered McGonagall with a bit of impatience. "Please tell Harry everything you know about his parents' tombstone."
"Well, if you desire to know the full story, then I'll have to go back more than a century."
"That's fine," said Harry.
Dumbledore sighed before continuing.
"While I put my memories and personality into this painting prior to my death, I obviously have no memories of what happened after doing so. So, I am unsure of what you and I may have discussed after this painting was created. There are some very personal things about my life related to your question. Personal and painful – and shameful - memories that I'd rather not repeat, if it's not completely necessary. So, before I died, did I ever discuss my family with you?"
"You did. I am aware of…certain painful events that transpired," Harry replied with a nod. Technically, he'd learned of the details of those events after Dumbledore had died, but he didn't figure that truly mattered at this point.
"The details?"
"If you mean about Grindelwald, then yes."
Dumbledore let out a small sigh.
"Well, the event in question – the one related to your parents' headstone – doesn't involve him. It involves my mother's death. I don't know if I told you, but it shames me to admit that I was an incredibly arrogant, ambitious, and selfish young man. I dreamt of leaving Godric's Hollow to make my mark on the world. But when my mother died, those dreams were dashed – or so I believed at the time. I was angry and resentful that, as the oldest, I had to come back and serve as guardian to my younger brother and sister."
"You did share that me."
"Well, I was so bitter that, after her death, I didn't immediately get a headstone for her grave. A few days later, there was a knock on my door. It was the local stonemason, stating that he was sorry for my loss and offering to create a headstone for free. He had assumed – incorrectly - that the reason I hadn't yet reached out to him had been due to a lack of funds. I gave him my mother's birthdate; he already knew her name and date of death. Then, he asked if I'd like an epitaph placed on the headstone. I was still angry so I said, 'You can put whatever you want for all I care.' Needless to say, it was not my finest moment.
"Anyway, when my sister, Ariana, died, I planned to bury her next to my mother so I went back to that same stonemason and asked he if could add my sister's name to the headstone. On the day of the funeral, at the gravesite, I saw that the man had indeed put an epitaph on their headstone: 'Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.' Reading those words resonated profoundly…and I can remember standing at their gravesite, sobbing uncontrollably. The entire episode made me see the error of my ways. Not just in the thoughts and goals that I'd shared with Grindelwald, but also in the way I'd been behaving.
"The next day, I went back to the stonemason's shop. I wanted to know where the quotation had come from. He was a kind, middle-aged Muggle, and he explained that the line came from the Bible. I had heard of Christianity at the time – even some of our Muggle friends had invited us to church on occasion – but I'd never read the Bible at that point. So, he went next door to his home and returned to the shop shortly with his. He opened it and showed me the verse." Dumbledore smiled. "It was the words of Jesus, as recorded in the Gospel according to Saint Matthew."
"You may not have read the Bible at the time, but its sounds like you have since then," said Harry.
"Indeed, I have. Like Miss Granger, I craved knowledge and, therefore, I read most every major text – Wizarding and Muggle – that I could find. Plus, I wanted to know more about the book which contained this line that had so deeply impacted me. I thought perhaps there'd be more pearls of wisdom to be found within. And I was correct."
Harry furrowed his brows.
"So…do you believe that Jesus is God then?"
"No, not literally. But I believe he represents the 'divine' that's within us all."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't necessarily believe in the historicity of the Bible, but I do agree wholeheartedly with the main principles found within – the value of faith and hope. And, most importantly, the power of love. I don't know if Jesus was a real man or simply a literary figure invented by the Biblical writers. Regardless, he taught his followers to love their fellow man, and I believe that to love is to connect with the divine. To connect with the highest, most noble plane of existence that's within every one of us. Love was the power that Voldemort knew not. It was why you were able to defeat him in the end."
Harry thought that was bollocks. He highly doubted that the reason he had defeated Voldemort was due to 'love.' In fact, he was almost positive that it wasn't. Over the years, he had thought a lot about his battles with the dark wizard, and he'd concluded that he had ultimately won simply due to pure blind luck. The number of coincidences that had occurred for him to be the owner of the Elder Wand in the final battle was ridiculous. However, he didn't want to argue with Dumbledore about that topic at the moment. That wasn't why he was there.
"So, you're the one responsible for putting a Biblical verse on my parents' tombstone?" he asked instead.
"Only indirectly, and this is where we flash-forward roughly eight decades in the story."
'Finally,' thought Harry.
His relief must have showed on his face because Dumbledore chuckled.
"I'm sorry, Harry, but I got the impression that you didn't want me to leave anything out when answering your questions. You did say to tell you everything."
Harry gave him a small smile.
"Best be careful what I ask for, huh?"
"Indeed. Now, where was I?"
"1981. My parents' death."
"Oh, yes. A tragic night, marked by such conflicting feelings, though it was almost entirely sorrow by those of us who knew James and Lily well. As head of the Order of the Phoenix, I felt it my responsibility to take care of the funeral arrangements – especially since Sirius was not available to do so. And given that they lived in Godric's Hollow, I saw it fitting that they should be buried there, as well. And that's when I remembered the Christian, Muggle stonemason who had crafted my mother's headstone. I knew that he would no longer be living, but I thought perhaps his son had taken over the family business, and I was partly correct – it was his grandson, which I thought was quite serendipitous. I took that as a sign and decided to also have a Biblical verse put onto your parents' tombstone, just as had been put on my mother's. But which one? While I had read the Bible, it had been many years before, and I certainly was no expert.
"I told the stonemason of his grandfather – of what he'd done for me all those years ago - and he and I spent a few minutes discussing your parents' demise. He didn't know that your parents were magical of course – due to the Statute of Secrecy - but given that Godric's Hollow was a small town, he stated that he did know them and had spoken to them on several occasions. He talked about what a shame it was that such a kind man and wife would die so young, which invariably led us into a philosophical discussion of death, itself. And, then, out of the blue, he mentioned that he was a Christian – like his grandfather before him – and that he was reminded of a section of Scripture that he'd happened to read that week. When he quoted, 'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death,' I knew that was it. That would be the epitaph for your parents' tombstone."
Harry's brows were deeply furrowed.
"So, that's it? That's the answer to the mystery? A random stranger came up with the idea?"
"Yes. And now I have told you everything that I know about it. But you look disappointed, Harry. Just what kind of answer were you hoping for?"
Harry didn't respond. He was looking away, lost in thought. Finally, he gave a small shake of his head and brought his eyes back to the painting.
"Thank you for answering my questions, Professor. I appreciate your time."
"But, of course, Harry. Time is something of which I have an abundance now."
Five minutes later, after having said his goodbyes, Harry exited the front doors of the castle. McGonagall had offered him the use of the floo network to get home, but he'd declined, opting instead for a long walk down to the front gate of the grounds. For he needed time to be alone, time to think. Because the fact was that he was both confused and disappointed. Last night, while kneeling at his parents' grave, he felt for sure that the answer to the mystery behind the epitaph would somehow be connected to his feelings of emptiness. That there would be some kind of profound truth in the answer that would give him new insight into himself. But, as far as he could tell, there was nothing deep or amazing at all behind the mystery, but rather just a random, ordinary Muggle stonemason.
Harry paused at the war memorial, glancing at the names of his friends one more time before gazing up at the white flame shining brightly in the night. The magical fire seemed almost alive. The way that it danced and moved was absolutely hypnotic so he just stared at it as he replayed the events of the past twenty-four hours in his mind. He sighed, realizing that he felt as hollow as he did the previous evening, perhaps even more so. Finally, he shook his head and moved on, continuing his journey through the school's grounds. As he headed towards the gate, the light from the full moon pushed back the darkness and illuminated his path so that he didn't even need to cast a Lumos spell.
His thoughts eventually led him to one question: 'What do I do now?'
He kept asking himself that the rest of the way down the path. After exiting the Hogwarts' gates, he sighed again and whispered to himself, "I have no idea."