Epilogue
Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stood at the window in his office, watching his students file into the carriages that would take them away from the school for the summer.
One week ago, he had witnessed Neville Longbottom's suicide. He had been, in theory, powerless to prevent the tragedy, and yet his heart was heavy. It was under his care that Neville had come to believe that he was not a Gryffindor at heart. That belief, Dumbledore knew, had inevitably caused his death. Neville Longbottom as a Slytherin? The aging Headmaster had laughed after Neville had broken house. He could have interceded, but he thought that Neville would soon enough renounce Slytherin and return to the House of his father and mother. He should have stopped the boy.
Dumbledore finally came to realize that the Malfoy family had operated a thriving drug chain in the school directly under his nose. He should have known, but he had grown complacent in the year since Lord Voldemort had been defeated. He had assumed that all was well within the walls of his sacred institution. He should have stopped the boys.
Harry Potter, once Professor Dumbledore's prized pupil, had unintentionally killed Draco Malfoy. He knew now that Harry had spent most of the year tormenting Ginny Weasley and controlling his friends with a rage that Dumbledore could not conceive. He had not known at the time. He should have stopped the boy.
He had known that Lucius Malfoy wanted revenge. He knew that he would seek out Harry to make him pay for the deaths of his loved ones. So, e was not surprised when the Daily Prophet printed an article about the untimely death of the wizard who had defeated the Dark Lord. But he should have stopped the boy.
Neville's ghost did not return after his self-imposed death. Draco was, even now, sobbing below in the Slytherin dungeons. He was a tormented soul who had lost so much and now doomed to exist unhappily for an eternity. The damage had been done. The damage could have been prevented. He should have stopped it all.
The Headmaster turned and surveyed his office. The portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses all regarded him in wary silence. He bowed slightly to the images before stooping to pick up the two small satchels at his feet. He was powerless. It was time to leave, at last.
The End