Chapter Thirty: Rosemary and Asphodel
Harry held the flask tightly in his hands and ran with Ron through the tunnel underground back to Hogwarts. There was still a Pensieve in Dumbledore's office that he had seen when they had gone through the Headmaster's Office—how could he have missed that they had gone through the Headmaster's Office when Hermione brought them back to school?—and if what Hermione said was true—of course it was true, Hermione wouldn't lie about something like that—then the memories could be important.
Death Eaters were still attacking the wards, but slower now; the wards looked faint, but they were still holding.
The castle bustled with students and Order members, and it seemed as if some sort of stand-off was occuring within Slytherin house with Draco Malfoy on one side and Crabbe and Goyle on the other. Harry paid them no mind as they stopped to gawk at him, nor did he pay attention as Crabbe and Goyle cursed their way through some younger students to leave the castle as he and Ron raced to the Headmaster's office.
When they arrived, he found that the password had not been changed since he was last there almost a year ago. That was odd, but he had no time to think about it. He motioned for Ron to stand guard when he found the Pensieve.
He hesitated for just a moment, then poured the memories into the Pensieve, then dove in. A series of scenes played out like a faint movie all around him, beginning with a young Severus Snape and his own mother.
"Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?" Lily asked.
"No," Snape said. "It doesn't make any difference."
—
It was Lily again.
"I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine."
"No—listen—I didn't mean—"
"—to call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?"
—
And then there was Dumbledore.
"And what will you give me in return?"
"In—in return?" Snape gaped at Dumbledore, and Harry expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, "Anything."
—
"And is it just that simple? You fall in love and all the ailments of your soul will be healed?" Snape asked, beyond sceptical.
"If it was that simple then there would be no ghosts," the Grey Lady snarled. "Love—reciprocated love—is the one thing that will heal the soul, because just as your soul reaches out for another's when you love them, so does theirs reach back for yours. Nothing can heal if all your soul does is endless reaching. But if your soul is touched by another...a loving soul…" Here, her lips twisted as if she had said something distasteful. "...it will ease your pain, and help heal the damage."
—
"Yet you confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre and who has a direct connection into the Dark Lord's mind!"
"Voldemort fears that connection," said Dumbledore. "Not so long ago he had one small taste of what truly sharing Harry's mind means to him. It was pain such as he has never experienced. He will not try to possess Harry again, I am sure of it. Not in that way."
"I don't understand."
"Lord Voldemort's soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry's. Like a tongue on frozen steel, like flesh in flame—"
"Souls? We were talking of minds!"
"In the case of Harry and Lord Voldemort, to speak of one is to speak of the other."
—
"If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him, under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry."
"Tell him what?"
"Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort's soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself on to the only living soul left in that collapsing building...And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to, and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die."
Harry watched then, as Snape protested his treatment, like a pig raised to slaughter, and startled when he saw the doe Patronus appear from Snape's wand. He knew Hermione was telling the truth, but seeing it with his own eyes made him believe.
There were a few scenes after: of Snape trying to keep Order members safe when they moved him, of Snape trying to keep the school safe, of Snape warning Hermione about the Taboo, giving her potions ingredients, asking Narcissa Malfoy to retrieve the Horcrux from Bellatrix Lestrange's vault, finally finding out from Merlin's text what the solution for taking down Voldemort was.
And then he landed on his feet in the Headmaster's Office again, head spinning with revelations.
Somehow, it was not a surprise to him that Dumbledore had planned for him to die all along, but it had been a shock to see how badly Dumbledore had used Snape.
"What was that all about?" Ron asked, breaking the silence of the Headmaster's Office.
Before Harry could answer, the voice of Voldemort echoed throughout the castle.
"I know Harry Potter is within the castle walls. Hand him over and I will cease the bombardment of the castle wards. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste," the high cold voice said.
"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. Over these past months you have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then I will send my Death Eaters into the castle. I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."
"Don't listen to him," said Ron.
"It's all right," Harry said, wondering where Hermione had gotten to. "Snape showed me what I have to do, to fix You-Know-Who's soul and how to kill him," Harry said. "Hermione wasn't lying—he really has been on our side this entire time. There was a lot in there but I can't get into it right now. Ron, I need you to guard these memories for me."
"...Ron, I need you to guard these memories for me."
Neville rounded the corner, relieved that he found Harry in time before he could do anything stupid.
"Oh, hi Neville," Harry said, unperturbed by the fact that Voldemort wanted his head. He looked tired; there were dark circles under his eyes; his jumper was unravelling at the hem, and his jeans were torn and scuffed.
"You're not going to him, are you?" Neville demanded, saving his greetings for later.
"I need to. Ron, Neville, please don't try to stop me. I've got—I've got a piece of You-Know-Who's soul inside me," Harry said in a choked voice.
Horror swelled in Neville's chest.
"I've got to die. And no one can die in my place, because I have to be the one who does. So please. Let me go."
Neville used to feel envious of Harry, for his talent and bravery and friends, but at that moment all Neville could feel was sadness and profound pity for the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Die.
"I can't let you do that," Ron argued heatedly, face reddening.
"Ron. Please. I know I've done some things in the past that were questionable—"
Ron scoffed.
"But I know I have to do this. Don't you think it's odd that Hermione never talked to us about my visions and connections to You-Know-Who? It's because Snape was trying to keep her off track from the fact that I've got to die. Because he knows she'd throw away her life for me, but that would be just—pointless because You-Know-Who would just come back again, because he's in my body. And the part of him that's in me is growing stronger. I've...got to go while I still can."
Neville swallowed.
"I...Neville, can I ask you a favour?"
"Yeah, anything," Neville rasped.
"If you find Hermione, please stop her from coming after me. She's—I know she's going to try to save me, but there is nothing that she can do, and I don't want anyone else to die for me."
"All right. Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."
"Ron, please come with me. I know you hate it but you know what needs to be done. Like sacrificing the knight to protect the queen, right?"
Ron looked stricken, but he nodded. "I know."
"Neville, you've been an incredible friend—I'm so sorry I haven't been a better friend all these years. You're amazing. Please take care of Hermione for me," Harry pleaded, suddenly looking every bit like the scared seventeen-year-old boy he was, instead of the saviour of the wizarding world.
"Who is taking care of me?" came the sharp voice of Hermione. Neville winced.
"Hermione." Harry started, then gulped. "I've got to go—"
"No, you can't—"
"I've got a piece of his soul in my head!" Harry bellowed, and then there was a ringing silence.
"No—that can't be right, you can't go—" she said, face going white with shock.
Neville saw movement out of the corner of his eye as she reached for her wand and had his out before she could cast.
"Petrificus totalus!" he shouted, then watched in horror as she fell back, stiff as a board, eyes wide in fury. He managed to catch her before she could hit the ground, a courtesy she had not given him in first year when she had cast the same curse on him.
"I'm so sorry Hermione—but there's...nothing you can do," he said, putting faith in Harry's words. Because hadn't Harry so often proved to be right when it came to Voldemort, all these years? Harry knew things and figured out things the rest of them could not, not even Hermione.
"I'm so sorry to say goodbye like this," Harry said, face red, a tear trailing down one of his cheeks. "I—you've been the best friend a boy could have ever asked for. You've been my friend and sister and mother and teacher and everything. Please forgive me."
Neville looked away. Hermione's eyes were streaming with tears now, and her face was red with rage and devastation.
Harry gave her stiff body a hug, then finally he and Ron were off. Before they left, Ron left a bottle of silvery light on the Headmaster's desk.
Neville looked at Hermione's body, on the floor of the Headmaster's office, and at all of the silent portraits looking on.
Her eyes had closed now, and she lay unnaturally still, as endless tears dripped from her face.
"I'm so sorry Hermione," Neville said, as he shut the doors to the office, and warded them shut. He leaned his head against the doors for a moment, before he headed off. He knew that whatever Harry did, it would not be the end of the fight.
After saying goodbye to Hermione, Harry donned his Invisibility Cloak and made his way quietly out of the castle and into the Forbidden Forest.
The scenery on his way out passed like a blur; he barely registered the silence and stillness of the back corridors that he took, the bright blue sky, or faintly shimmering presence of the castle wards above his head, barely holding together.
He walked lightly on his feet through the Forbidden Forest, somehow knowing that Voldemort would meet him in the clearing where he once drank blood from a unicorn.
Halfway into the forest, he stopped, and threw the Invisibility cloak off. Ron stopped with him as well, not saying a word.
"I open at the close," he mumbled to himself, and withdrew the golden snitch that Dumbledore had given him. Inside was a small black stone set in an ugly gold ring.
Harry stared at the ring, the voice of Hermione speaking distantly in his head…
"And of course there's the tale of the three brothers...a wand, a ring, and a cloak…"
Harry laughed bitterly. So this was what Dumbledore's will came down to. Three magic objects, one of which he did not even have, to help him conquer Death. Which even Hermione could find no solution for.
Mind made up, he handed the Ring and the Cloak to Ron.
"If—if I don't come back, I need you to finish this for me," he said, taking one last time to look at his other best friend. Ron Weasley had changed a lot since they met—he was a child when they had first met on the Hogwarts Express, but now he looked like a man, tall, and slender, almost gaunt, which he knew was due to the stress of the past year. Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. He would never get to see Ron start his first job, get married, have kids.
"I—you know everything. You've been...just the best. Given me so much. I'm not going to say goodbye—rubbish at those anyway—but...I'll be seeing you, yeah?" Harry said, finally giving in to the urge to give Ron a hug.
Ron hugged him back tightly, then let go. "Give him hell."
"Yeah." Harry straightened up, and clasped his wand loosely in his hand.
He found Voldemort standing surrounded by a handful of Death Eaters in the clearing, and took a moment to shake his thoughts off.
He thought of Hermione and Ron, who had been with him through everything. He thought of everything Hermione ever taught him about love—from caring for his grades and injuries to sending her parents away. Who had been there, steadfast, for him, through absolutely everything. He thought of Ron, who prodded him out of his moods with jokes and games, who may have seemed to have the emotional range of a teaspoon and struggled with being overshadowed by Harry but who still obviously cared for him more than any of his own brothers and always came back despite having so much to lose. Who shared his family with him. He thought of things that Hermione had said, about benevolence, compassion, joy, and freedom, and thought that it had been nice, that he had known all these things in his life. That he had been taught to feel these things, thanks to his friends.
"I'm here, Tom," he announced clearly, and all the Death Eaters turned their heads around to look at him.
Voldemort's eyes flashed red and he hissed.
"Rude as ever, Potter," he said with a snarl. "I think you need another lesson in manners. Have you come here to face your death?" Riddle taunted, and drew his wand out.
"Yes," Harry said simply, striding up to the man.
Harry snatched Riddle's hand and pointed the wand at his heart, and made up his ritual words of sacrifice; Snape had told him that the words mattered little so long as the intent was there."You have offered me mercy, but I refuse." He pushed his face towards Riddle's, who wore an expression of utter disgust.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Harry could not tell who had spoken the words.
It was odd, the surge of magic that was his own, yet channelling the power of Tom.
It was agony, feeling his life being ripped from his body, but Harry accepted the pain. He concentrated on holding the piece of Tom's soul to his, holding onto every ounce of pity, compassion, and benevolence that he could summon for Tom, of his enemy who was constantly reaching for him in hatred and want all at the same time. He thought of the poor orphan half-blood boy who never had anyone love him, never had friends—too traumatised by his experiences at the orphanage to make friends, too scared by the world and everything that he experienced as an attack to react to reality with anything but hostility.
He felt the pieces of Tom's soul slowly come together, as he forced the part of Tom's soul inside him to feel all the remorse that Harry felt on his behalf, of every emotion that Harry could conjure that was somewhat like love. He knew it wasn't love, and knew it might not be enough, but if there was anything that he had learned from Hermione, it was that love was a collection of emotions, and he could at least feel some of those for Tom.
He accepted all the fear and hatred and power and pride Tom was driven by. He felt the small joys of life—of speaking to snakes, the music of a mouth organ, of Nagini curled around him, the feeling of the wind in his face as he flew unsupported through the air—and accepted that there would be no more of that now. However little of it there was within Tom's soul—there was remorse, from the piece that had been attached to Harry's soul since his birth, that had been nurtured by his own soul. There was remorse for each life taken for each Horcrux, and Harry fed this emotion with the inexplicable feelings he had for life. His life flashed before his eyes, and with everything he had ever felt in such dizzying speed ripping through him that he didn't know what he was feeling anymore. There were tears on his face. Harry could feel his soul joined with Riddle's, feel the agony that Riddle had endured his entire life, feel his acceptance and healing of the pain.
It was taking him forever to die. He didn't want to die.
Harry felt his heart contract one last time, like a crystal shard breaking. Tom Riddle's soul finally came together, beautiful and terrible to behold. Harry held onto Tom, and waited to pass on. His breath left his body, his heart stopped, and his blood slowed. This was it.
He did not want to die.
Hermione didn't know how long had passed before the Full Body Bind Curse finally wore off. All she knew was that there was nothing but stunned silence in the Headmaster's Office, then a low steady murmur that soon became louder that soon devolved into several of the previous Headmasters shouting at Dumbledore from their portraits.
The shouting soothed away some of the sting of anger and betrayal for her. Betrayal, from how Harry, Ron, and Neville had decided her actions for her—for Harry for locking her away during his last moments, for being reduced to being able to do nothing while others fought a battle that was also rightly her own. Also betrayal, for how Dumbledore knew that Harry had to die this entire time, and that Severus was the only other person who had known.
Hermione breathed in the peculiar scent of the Headmaster's office slowly— a mix of Severus, ashes, and magic—as her body filled to bursting with her rage. If she focused on her rage she could ignore the fear inside her that was spiralling out of control for her loved ones.
She would've fallen over if she wasn't already lying on the floor when the curse wore off. She jumped to her feet and made her way over to Dumbledore's portrait.
"I'd set you on fire if I didn't need you after the war," she hissed, then jabbed her wand at him anyway, leaving a scorch mark on the canvas.
The silver glow of memories stopped her from storming out of the office immediately. She rummaged in her purse for a stopper for the flask of memories that the boys had left her, and then carefully placed it in an Unbreakable box inside her bag.
Hermione let out a small frustrated scream when she discovered that the doors were warded shut, and ripped the wards down with brute magical force as she finally left the Headmaster's office.
An eerie silence had descended over the castle, only to be broken by the sounds of fighting when she approached the entrance to the castle.
It was chaos. Heavy smoke covered the grounds, occasionally lit up by the light of spellfire. Hermione couldn't tell what was going on, her eyes seeking out familiar faces in the duelling figures, until she found Hagrid's hunched over figure, holding a body.
Hermione ignored her sense of foreboding, and approached Hagrid.
"No," she breathed, when she saw that Hagrid was holding a body. "No!" she screamed, when she saw Harry. This was why no one was attacking Hagrid. Because Harry was dead.
She clutched at Harry's arm, which was still warm, and beat him on the chest with her other arm.
"You were supposed to live! Dumbledore gave us that stupid book and those stupid objects and—" Hermione's chest heaved for air, and she tried hard not to cry, because if she started crying now she would lose the last nerve that was holding her together.
"Have you tried reviving him?" she asked Hagrid wildly, as she took a step back and forced herself to think. She had probably saved one man already—what was to say she couldn't save someone else?
"Revivin'? Of course we tried re-enervatin' him!" Hagrid exclaimed.
"No! Hagrid—please, I need to try something." Hastily casting wards around them, Hermione motioned for Hagrid to set Harry's body down. She turned away from the sight of Hagrid's tears, and forced her mind to clear.
She ran through the steps of CPR in her head, and got in position to do chest compressions.
Her mind soon emptied of everything except giving Harry two breaths followed by chest compressions as hard as she could manage it.
She didn't know how long Harry was out for, but as long as she was doing something she hadn't given up.
Time became meaningless as she continued the pattern—pinching his nose, covering his mouth with her own, breathing hard into his lungs, and then throwing her body weight into the compressions—but eventually she became light-headed, her arms burned, and eyes blurred with tears as sweat dripped down her forehead.
When she felt as if she was about to fall over, Hagrid pulled her off Harry's body, and she began to hyperventilate. At that point she had used so much of her energy that she couldn't even struggle to reach Harry again.
"Tha's enough," Hagrid said gently, scooping up Harry's body with one arm, and hers with another. She wasn't aware of what was happening until she was put down in a cot, and given a Dreamless Sleep Draught. She spat out what she could of the draught as soon as she realised what she was drinking, but by then it was too late, she had already swallowed a sip.
"I can't! I need to go!" she cried, struggling in her cot. She needed to get to Severus—every hour she was away meant that he was that much closer to death. Her mind began to cloud with the heaviness of sleep.
Madam Pomfrey appeared by her side, her usually impeccable robes dishevelled and covered with numerous murky stains, a horrifying stench of cauterised wounds lingering around her.
"Miss Granger. You are in no condition to help anyone—"
"He needs immediate medical help! There are wards." Hermione's words slurred. There was something very important that she wasn't telling Madam Pomfrey.
"You've done all you could for Harry," Pomfrey said in a soft tone, and pushed Hermione back on the cot.
"No, it's not Harry, please—"
She fought against the heavy sensation in her limbs, and grabbed on to Pomfrey's hands.
"Please—"
"I know you've suffered a great loss, but right now the best thing you can do for everyone is rest."
She wanted to scream, but her throat wasn't cooperating. Hermione fought to remain sitting up, but soon her hands slipped away from Pomfrey's hands, and then her eyes shut against her will, mind going blissfully blank.