Italics indicate spells and thoughts
Voldemort was dead.
He slowly toppled over, surprise written on every line of his snake-like, pale face. The dust and wreckage of a demolished castle lay strewn all around the two of them, the whole of Hogwarts behind Harry. In the end, it had been the Dark Lord's arrogance which had outdone him, the sickly green light of his own Avada Kedavra curse illuminating him for mere milliseconds before vanishing into motes of light.
Harry turned around, leaving the body behind him, arms hanging limply by his side. Blood and wounds adorned his body and every step was staggered, painful, slow. The students of Hogwarts parted like the Red Sea, whispers spreading like wildfire as Harry moved towards the exit of the Great Hall.
The air was ashy, almost suffocating in its dryness. Rubble was everywhere, broken pieces of marble littering the floor, bodies scattered around like confetti. The light touch of Death lingered in the shadows, the blackened blood, the heaving final gasps of the dying.
"Is…is he dead?" A timid voice asked from behind Harry, making the whole Hall go silent. Harry turned around, messy black hair shadowing his face. The questioner was a small Second Year, dirty face and blood in her hair. She was a Slytherin, the green on her robe barely distinguishable from the dirt and ashes.
She was only a child. All of them were only children.
Harry looked at her, really looked, green eyes frozen over and no discernible expression on his face. She couldn't seem to handle his gaze, cowering behind some other students, everyone holding their breath, waiting for an answer.
He twisted his body abruptly, startling the students, and began limping towards the exit again. Nobody made a move to stop him and within a few seconds he was at the grand doorway, elaborate archway cracked beyond repair, stepping over a few masked bodies to get through. Stopping for barely a moment, he exhaled loudly, a long hiss of grief and suffering.
"Yes." Harry Potter replied at last, Elder Wand firmly grasped in one hand, the knuckles straining so hard they went white.
He clambered up the stairs towards the Headmaster's office, one step at a time, hearing the cheers beginning to ring out behind him as the students rejoiced the death of Lord Voldemort. They had every right to be happy, they were free, they were safe, they were alive…
Harry Potter was not celebrating. Not until they were back.
He reached the gargoyle, immovable snarl etched on its surface.
"Open up."
The gargoyle did not move.
"I said…OPEN UP!"
A few seconds passed, Harry breathing heavily, glaring hard at the gargoyle. Its wings seemed to be almost mocking Harry, inviting him in but stopping him from entering. Harry paused, a deep sigh emanating from his very soul.
"I'm done playing these games. You can't manipulate me anymore."
The gargoyle swung open soundlessly, bronze figure gleaming in the candlelight. Harry wasted no time, immediately striding as fast as he could into the office. It was in perfect order, not a hair out of place, portraits hanging serenely upon the walls and bookcases undamaged.
It made Harry feel sick.
The portraits on the side walls asked Harry questions incessantly, but he paid them no mind. His focus was on the main portrait, behind the empty chair, the man with the white beard and the twinkling eyes.
"Dumbledore."
"My dear boy…I am so glad to see you. It is over?" Dumbledore asked to confirm, light blue eyes flowing with concern.
"Yes."
Dumbledore exhaled, tensions quite literally melting off his features, closing his eyes briefly in gratitude.
"Thank Merlin. But you don't seem too happy, or am I mistaken?" Dumbledore queried gently, fixing Harry his empathetic gaze.
"You're not."
"What could be the problem? Voldemort has been defeated, the horcruxes destroyed, today should be a day for celebration!" Dumbledore's portrait replied, eyes piercing Harry, trying to look within his soul.
"They're dead."
Dumbledore paused for a moment, looked at Harry slowly, and the light of comprehension seemed to dawn in his eyes. A profound sorrow could be seen on the former Headmaster, his body slumping slightly in regret.
"My dear boy, I am so-"
"Don't call me that." Harry interrupted, hands tapping on the Headmaster's desk compulsively. The flames illuminating the office, orange glow so warm and welcoming, flickered ever so slightly. Memories of a different day emerged, a sense of déjà vu striking Harry – the day Sirius had died, and he had lost just that little bit of hope.
Smashed trinkets, hidden truths revealed, trust lost.
"They died trying to help me. To kill that damned snake. One of his goddamn horcruxes. It wasn't nice. There was fire, and burning, and screaming." Harry stated in monotone, the only indicator of his furious rage the quick tapping of his hands.
"Please Harry, you must- "
"I couldn't do anything. I couldn't help. I just…stood there. Stood there as they died. Died for me. Died for you. Died for your stupid dream." Harry continued, eyes misted, talking over Dumbledore as if he couldn't even hear him.
"No, Harry- "
"No?" The whisper was sibilant, deathly quiet, barely audible. Dumbledore said nothing, only gazing into Harry's eyes with his sorrow and regret but that wouldn't help because-
"THEY'RE DEAD! RON AND HERMIONE! IT'S YOUR FAULT!"
"Yes, it is." Dumbledore admitted quietly, his frank statement stunning Harry.
"What?"
"I have made many mistakes Harry, and this will serve to be one of my worst. I never meant…I never considered the possibility…I thought that your bonds…but I beg of you to listen to this final word from a man who failed more than he succeeded: you were not one of my mistakes. My actions were always for the greater good, and you have made me prouder than you will ever know." Dumbledore delivered passionately, staring at Harry, hoping that he would see reason.
Silence enveloped the office in its cold embrace, Harry's breathing slowing down from the whirlwind fury it had previously been in.
…
"No, it's too late. I'm leaving." Harry said in an detached manner, a sharp contrast from his earlier shouting, after a period of anxious quiet.
"Harry?" Dumbledore asked, hand outstretched in the portrait, yet unable to do anything.
"You can't stop me like last time." Harry stated, hard green eyes locked on to Dumbledore's regretful blues.
"I'm taking this with me," Harry waved the Elder Wand, watching with slight satisfaction as Dumbledore's face fell further, "and I'm going back into the forest."
Harry waited for a few moments, until Dumbledore seemed to understand what he was talking about.
"No, no, please my boy, you can't, look what it did to me, it will only lead to greater suffering-"
"Goodbye Dumbledore." Harry said, no feeling in his voice, turning around and moving towards the exit of the office.
The other portraits, who had all been silent up to this point, burst into a cacophony of shouts, each vying to be heard. In their midst, the main portrait stayed silent, head in his hands, watching Harry leave. Dumbledore sagged within his portrait, defeated in the knowledge that for once in his existence, he could do nothing; just watch.
Harry stumbled through the Forbidden Forest, retracing his steps slowly. Light fled this abyssal plane and the trees were swaying from side to side in an ominous manner. He entered the clearing where he had died barely twenty minutes ago, supporting himself against the tree as he lost himself in bittersweet memories.
Ron and Hermione…I'll see you again…it can't end this way…
Shadows seemed distorted in this uncanny place, warped into strange shapes. Harry wiped away tears with an angry hand, breaths coming in harsh pants.
"Death…bring them back to me!" He shouted, glaring at the shadows, half-expecting a hooded figure to emerge, bargains and promises hidden within its depths, like in the stories of old.
No such thing happened. A soft breeze crept through the clearing, turning over leaves and caressing Harry's face with soft strokes. It lasted for only a moment, fading away just as Harry felt it on his skin. Silence blanketed the clearing in its comforting embrace, Harry sighing for a moment, before hardening his heart to what he had to do, despite the warnings of his former mentor.
"Fine. I'll do it myself." He bit out, glaring balefully at the shadows encroaching on the clearing.
"Accio resurrection stone." Harry muttered, hand clutching his aching ribs, from when Voldemort had repeatedly slammed his unresisting body into the ground, laughing manically as he had done so, back when Harry had to pretend to be dead.
Due to his weak state, the stone only made it to the floor next to Harry and he sunk to his knees, looking at it. It was an odd shape, quite like a pyramid, a soulless black obsidian that seemed to envelop the senses within.
Harry cared for none of that. He just wanted his friends back.
Just like before, he turned it over in his hand once, twice, before hesitating. There was a weighing down on his hand, something screaming in his head to stop, a shakiness in his limbs as he went to turn for a third time…
Harry Potter turned the resurrection stone for the third time, and the universe pulsed.
...Hi. Been a while (at least for me). This is a bit of a weird story, one I wrote years ago and finally remembered about. No harm in posting it, right?!
As always, please follow Superiority of Villains community if you would, I would appreciate it a lot! Nearing the top of Page 1...
