Disclaimer: I do not Harry Potter, nor any of JK Rowling's creations.
A/N: Usually, I write a pre-chapter A/N, but I thought this chapter up on the fly, so to speak, and was typing before I'd even settled down into the right thoughts for 'Promises.' Because of that, this chapter is a little more sarcastic than usual. Of course, the character who is talking here is rather sarcastic, so it worked out.
I'm terribly sorry about this, but Harry's having a little trouble right now. The whole alive/dead thing seems to be too much for him, and he's being rather shy about coming back to life or proclaiming that he's dead. Perhaps you'll know by the end of this chapter. Perhaps not. Perhaps you'll have to read the one after this. Mwah ha ha!
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Title: Sleep On
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He faded away.
No, idiot. Not figuratively. I don't do figuratively.
He faded away.
As in disappeared.
Left.
Vanished.
Right out from under my hands.
Well, hand…I only have one now, you know…
I'm not sure why. He was just…gone.
I could have cared less, really. I was in pain, more pain than I'd been in for at least a few days, dammit!
I stood up, wavering slightly. Perhaps the blood loss was affecting me…after all, I had cut off my arm less than five minutes before…
Stupid Potter. I've never met a more idiotic boy. Killing himself on a chance…he had no way to be certain that turning the killing curse back on Voldemort would kill him…
Or perhaps he did.
As I said, I think the blood loss was affecting me. I certainly felt strange…
All around me were piles of ash. Where death eaters had fallen and burned.
Thank Merlin there were no other spies…
Thank Merlin that Potter told me what I had to do before he died…or whatevered. I'm not entirely certain he is dead…
Of course, I think perhaps the blood loss has affected me more than I would have liked…
Because the most irritating…and sorrowful, I suppose…part of this whole night has been realizing that I no longer have a left hand. It is a pile of ash now, lying on the ground. Rather odd…
I tried to put Potter's limp hands on his chest when he stopped breathing. I moved his right with my right hand, and then reflexively reached for his other hand with my left—only to miss by ten or so inches. That's right…no hand there anymore.
I moved the other hand, placed them on his chest…and then the damn brat faded away…the literal way, remember…
And then I had to go explain to Albus why his surrogate grandchild was not coming back this time…
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The ceiling cracked. That was the first thing that happened when I came into the hall.
It scared me, honestly. And you will not find me admitting anything in any honest manner very often.
But the sickening crack of the enchanted ceiling scared me.
Because it was also the breaking of an old man's heart…
Albus's face when I staggered into the hall empty-handed was painful to see.
It did not bother me that his worry was not for me, though I was bleeding and in agony… I understood at least a little…even if I never liked Potter…
Alright.
Perhaps I did respect Potter…
I never liked him. Never. Never.
I suppose the ceiling will never work again. I had not realized it was so tied to Albus's emotions…
And the sickening crack and sudden dark black of the ceiling told me all I needed to know…
Pomfrey healed my wound. She of course could not replace the lost limb, not without dark arts, and I rather prefer it this way, even if it will be a terrible hindrance. It is difficult to brew potions with only one usable hand.
I should have thanked Voldemort sometime, for putting the dark mark on my non-dominant arm…
It would be hellish to have to learn to use my left hand to write…how in hell would I mark papers? I couldn't possibly write all the scathing remarks I want if I had to struggle along with my left hand.
And I will never be caught with one of those self-writing quills.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When I was young and got my mark, I was a foolish teen who thought that power would solve my troubles. I thought power would make Sirius Black and James Potter go away. I though power would make girls flock to me…
Disturbing as it seems, Potter is the one that showed me that I was wrong.
I still shudder at the thought…
His mouth is what infuriated Voldemort the most, I know. What drove him to the edge, I'm sure.
How the brat managed it, I may never know. Voldemort, despite his appearances, was too much of a coward to outright kill the brat. Not when he was rational. Not when his emotions were firmly under his control.
Because Potter was the key for him…Potter, the one that drove him from his body, brought him within a hair's breadth of death as a tiny baby. Potter, he felt, was the secret. The key to achieving immortality.
His sudden need for unicorns stemmed from Potter as well…because somehow Potter called them to himself. Made them come dancing and running. Albus wanted to know how Potter did it, as well…
I felt almost envy when I learned that Potter had shown the unicorns to that Weasley girl and Albus. I have never seen a unicorn. At least, not a live unicorn…not until the day the Dark Lord perished…and that one was chained…it was no free creature…
I think Voldemort was afraid that if he killed Potter, it would mean that he could never be immortal. Because the Boy-Who-Lived would suddenly become the Boy-Who-So-Easily-Died. And that would break his wishes…
He was so afraid of that…
The others were starting to see it…that perhaps their leader, their harsh and demanding commander was insane, driven to it by his mad need to live forever, to escape death…
To escape the inescapable.
Though I would have said that if there was anyone capable of escape death, it would be Potter. He had an uncanny ability to escape even the worst situations.
No more, it seems. He has faded. He is gone.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When I was fourteen, my grandfather died.
I knew him somewhat well…he was a sour and bitter old man, much as I have become, except without the excessive age…
I did not understand death yet.
By that age, Potter had seen his first death, right in front of his eyes…
It was summer after fourth year. My father got a note, and for once in his life he looked upset. He forced me to go with him to the funeral, though I had never liked my grandfather.
The body was odd to me. It didn't look human at all. I couldn't believe that at some time it had been alive.
It looked like it had never moved in its life.
The deaths I saw later were not like this. Those, I saw how they died…but in the end it was all the same.
The dead were never alive, every time. They are odd shells, worrisome blanks that take up space in coffins under the ground.
At fourteen, morbid curiosity was what made me want to see the corpse. Death was a phenomenon that I did not understand yet.
I understood pain from my father. I understood sorrow from my mother…
But death…Death!
Death is an empty shell staring up at you. Death is a mystery that lies there mocking you, forcing you to try to figure out its meaning…
Because it must have a meaning…it must.
Potter would laugh at the way I say that. He would ask why anything must have a meaning. Why I have to know something so desperately.
It is because his death is wrong.
He faded away. No shell was left. Nothing to mock me. Nothing to mock his friends with.
Death is supposed to be constant. It is supposed to leave something behind for you to stare fearfully at and wonder about. It should not disappear and leave you wondering just what happened.
(What did happen?)
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Holiday will be longer this year," Albus says heavily. "We will give them another month."
He sits behind his desk…the silver instruments are all gone now…even those that Potter did not break at the end of his fifth year, in that fit of anger. That fit of living…
His desk is draped in black somehow. Not fabric, but illusion black shadows cover the wood. It is odd…the whole office is so dark and worn and…old…
"I am sure the students will be thrilled," I comment dryly. They will of course not understand why the holiday is lengthened. Albus is determined to keep this quiet until the school year starts. Just in case…
Voldemort is gone. But he will not be certain until another two months or so have passed. Despite his faith in Potter, he needs to be certain.
Death is a mystery for him as well…no matter what quote he spouts off about the 'next great adventure.'
"Someone must tell Potter's friends," Minerva speaks up. Her voice is hoarse…she has been crying. As have most of the staff.
I refuse to even consider crying. What a ridiculous waste of time. It accomplishes less than nothing.
"I will do that," Albus says heavily. "After all, Harry was my responsibility."
"Ridiculous," I cut in. He looks at me with an unreadable expression, and I force myself to sneer slightly. It is now that they will need my cold advice. Because they are too broken…
"Severus?" he questions.
"He was not your responsibility," I snap. "And for your information, in case you had not picked up on that, he left the wards on his own. On purpose."
"I should have been watching closer," Albus murmurs. For the most powerful wizard now alive, he seems rather weak to me.
(Weak or human?)
"Potter was rather pig-headed about seeing this thing to the end," I tell him sharply. "He would not have waited all summer like a good little boy. He was sixteen!"
"Sixteen…" Minerva murmurs, and I know that I have said the wrong thing with that last comment. Sixteen is too young…even I know that…
"Shacklebolt specifically stated that Potter went about ten feet out from the end of the wards…and in a very obviously-marked area. He climbed a damn fence to get out of them!" I point out sharply. I need to get them off the brat's age. "Potter knew exactly what he was doing."
"Did he?" Albus asks.
"He could have been a Slytherin," I admit grudgingly. "He manipulated Voldemort exactly where he wanted him to go."
"Manipulated?" Albus echoes. "According to Harry, he wanted Tom to learn to understand him…"
"Perhaps," I admit. The brat's need for understanding has never ceased to irritate me…well, now it has ceased, I realize.
"I will contact the Weasleys this evening," Albus says heavily. "Mrs. Granger—Weasley—has been staying with them…for safety reasons…"
"I will require an assistant next school year," I put in. I gesture with my stump-arm. "I cannot brew potions as before."
"Of course," Albus says with a small smile. "I know just the two…"
There is just a little twinkle in his eye. That means he will recover…he is not so broken as he seems…
There is reason to go on…
Perhaps Potter got to him as well, before all this…
Certainly, he could have been a Slytherin…
"What did you promise him?" I ask before I can stop myself. Albus smiles softly.
"I promised to take care of the students," he says softly. "No more Tom Riddles."
"Of course," I say. I do not believe it, but if anyone can prevent it, it is Albus Dumbledore. Working hard under the promise of a dead sixteen year old boy.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Fred Weasley. I never wanted to see him again.
And George Weasley as well.
I was so elated to see them gone…of course it could not last…
I cannot even tell them apart…
They give me weak smiles…they have learned the truth now…Albus told them yesterday evening…
"Ron won't come out of his room," one of the two says somberly. As if I care how the boy is…
There are tears on both their faces that they continually wipe away, and their eyes are red. I suppose they have not slept.
I don't recall them being close to Potter…
They have not told a single joke in four hours. That is what frightens me…
"Hermione and he are going to move out to their home in a few weeks," the other comments. "I'm not sure how they'll cope…"
"For some reason Albus thinks you will be worthy assistants," I cut in. Enough wallowing, I think harshly. Even I would not say that aloud… "I do not have time for your tricks and carelessness."
"No," one murmurs. Murmurs. I have never heard either of them murmur before.
Just how well did they know the boy, I wonder? They were two years older than him, I remember…
I suddenly hit the door in front of me. Face-first. Hard.
Of course.
I tried to open it with my nonexistent hand, and then continue on as if it had worked.
The two Weasleys wisely say nothing. Just wait for me to properly open the door with my right hand. And then they follow me into the classroom. I have potions to brew, and I want to see just how useful they will be.
According to them, Lee Jordan has taken over their joke shop for now. They need to be nearer their family, or some such. At Hogwarts, they will be able to keep an eye on Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger—rather, Weasley, now—, the married couple, without it seeming that way.
Albus confided this morning that he is afraid of what will happen with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley the younger. They were closer to Potter than anyone could have possibly been…though I have my own suspicions about Miss Weasley. I know Potter spent a great deal of time mooning over her…ridiculous teen hormones…
And being a hormonal and stupid teenager herself, I'm sure she had her own romantic ideas about him…
Perhaps they will make good assistants, I admit. They seem to know what they're doing. And after the sixth time I tried to stir a potion with a nonexistent hand I realized just how impossible it would be for me do this job alone.
Of course, I am thankful that the rest of me is still alive. Though I will miss that hand…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
There is a glade…
Deep in the forest…
Green. Time does not move here, it seems. The sun always shines down…
I can tell that this is a magic-filled place…there is something utterly inhuman about the clearing…
I cannot place it…
The grass wavers and whips around in a gentle breeze…
And then I see the unicorns…dancing and leaping…their energy and innocence is so incredible…
Even I cannot help but be moved…
I suppose I am crying in my sleep now, locked in this dream…I wish it would last forever…
But as I have learned…immortality is not to be had…forever is not so long after all…
And in the clearing a dark haired boy sleeps on…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A/N: Well hmmm. I can't really tell you if Harry's alive or not. My metaphors are really driving me batty. I mean, if I can't even figure them out… Well, I suppose it'll all sort itself out soon… Darn it, now I have to resuscitate or bury Harry in a later chapter…
Hmmm is all I have to say right now….
ALSO: I know that you don't always have time to leave reviews. Whatever your reasons, though, even just a word or two is welcome. You don't have to sign it or whatever. I just like to be able to tell who is and who isn't reading.
Thank you to Liz, Nadezhda, Tsaui, Shadowsfriend, Imaginaryfriendless, Ash Knight, Loony, AP Mom, and Kjkit. Several of you have been reviewing each and every chapter, and it really does mean a lot to me. Thank you.