Chapter 24: Stratosphere Epilogue (Part I)

"Great liars are also great magicians." - Adolph Hitler

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Harry had had his hot dinner, as he had wanted, straight from the kitchens. It was hardly healthy, but it was filling and he didn't care - Levina, who he passed as he had entered the school, had nodded casually to him and was busily pretending to have been in the building for the entire morning.

After that, he had headed straight to the dormitory, dressed methodically for bed, despite it being past ten o'clock in the morning, dragged himself under the covers, and slept for the next nine hours straight.

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He woke at 7:16, and the Sun was (thankfully) descending proudly and defiantly into the horizon, announcing its presence by making Harry's eyes ache with alarming intensity. He sluggishly pulled himself up and tested the rest of himself; no injuries, miraculously (and he was sure the phoenix form had something to do with this), but his muscles were sore and throbbing painfully, even after his rest. His stomach was also unhappy with its day so far.

Sliding out from the covers and getting dressed into his normal school robes, Harry took note of the distinctive lack of other students, despite the relatively late time. The teachers had probably ordered them not to disturb him. If they thought it would make up for even a fraction of the last decades that 'Voldemort' had terrorised the Wizarding world, they were sorely mistaken. Talking of Voldemort, Harry realised, the man's talisman - the hoop and chain - was on his bedside cabinet. He left it there.

Harry also spotted another peculiarity: as he fiddled with his pendant, he noticed that yet another rune - the final one, if Levina was correct in its translation - had appeared, though precisely when it had done so was a mystery. He tucked it back under his robes, and pushed the door open.

The stairway was empty.

The Gryffindor Common Room was empty.

Outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, McGonagall stood, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Good evening," said Harry, flicking a bit of thread from his shoulder. "Shouldn't you be at supper right now?"

Obviously not expecting this rather unusual reaction, McGonagall gave a start and blinked furiously before finding her voice. "The headmaster," she coughed, raising a fist to cover her mouth in a discomfited manner, "wishes to dine with you, in his study. It is a request," she added hastily. "The other students may act a little... strangely, and Professor Dumbledore thought you may wish to hear the actions taken after the- today's events."

He could have made a snide comment about the real reason Dumbledore obviously wanted to see him - to apologise, to explain his actions - but Harry decided against it. Instead, he calmly started off the Headmaster's Office, ignoring the hesitant steps of McGonagall, who seemed unsure whether to follow him, lead him, or flee before he turned into a vengeful, homicidal maniac.

Well, he'd already killed two people that day. Why not a third?

He didn't pass anyone in the corridors, which was definitely strange - even if most people were at supper, there were usually a few who skipped it to finish off homework or to meet friends. Of course though, the teachers had cleared the corridors. They would, wouldn't they - though Harry wondered why the students might react to him 'strangely'.

It probably came back to the killing thing again.

McGonagall had disappeared several corridors back, so Harry was quite happy to perform a little wandless magic to blast the Gargoyles aside and force his way through the 'wall' and up the staircase, quite serenely and unhurriedly.

He knocked on the door.

It opened immediately and smoothly into the Headmaster's Office, looking as normal and ordinary as if it were any other day. The man himself sat behind his desk, eyes having notably lost their usual twinkle. Harry entered the room, strolled past the whirring contraptions and a preening Fawkes, and came to a stop in front of Dumbledore's desk, where he gave him a withering look.

"Was there some reason you asked to see me?" he enquired with an air of long-suffering patience. Dumbledore flinched slightly, and Harry perceived just how pale and tired he seemed. He had always imagined, that if this day should come - Voldemort defeated, and the losses on their own side negligible - Dumbledore would be... well, as always, but even more energetic, with boundless liveliness, enthusiasm...

But of course, Voldemort, it now transpired, was not a ruthless Dark Lord at all; just a man, an honourable, military man doing an essential and reprehensible job day in, day out, with nothing to show for it - knowing it lead up to an ignoble and probably brutal end. And he had.

Dumbledore clasped his hands together, not seeming to realise how tightly and whitely his knuckles showed when he did so. "I thought you may wish to know the..." he paused to choose his next words carefully. "... after-effects of Voldemort's end."

Harry snorted. "Don't you mean Tom Riddle? Or Tom Fallow?"

Another flinch. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"What for? Lying to me? Or creating the epitome of a Wizarding monster and killing hundreds of people?" He shrugged. "Doesn't matter anyway. I'm not angry. Just... disappointed. Irritated, yeah, but I think I'm just too fed up to be feeling any real anger. That doesn't mean I'll trust you anymore, though," he added, to make himself clear.

Dumbledore sighed, lowering his head. "I know," he said ruefully, sounding truly regretful. Harry knew better than to fall for it, just in case it was yet another manipulation. "I admit, I deserve it. I did some terrible things, just by thinking the idea - let alone suggesting it to my superiors."

Harry waved him off, before he could go into any more meaningless apologies. "I don't care about that now. What I want to know is what happened after I left."

There was a pregnant pause, before Dumbledore accepted this lack of interest. "Very well then," he coughed, sitting up a little straighter as he went into 'Headmaster and informer' mode. "After the magpie appeared again to warn us of your... plight... I arranged reinforcements to launch a rescue on Miss Nikastal's sordid little operation." Harry raised an eyebrow at this. He actually had the nerve to call someone else's plan a 'sordid little operation'?

"We arrived too late; a woman was seen running towards the girl with a sword, though whether this was to strike you or your captor, we don't know. We haven't yet managed to find her," Dumbledore continued, looking at Harry, as if asking for a hint as to whether Harry knew who she was or not. He kept his face blank.

"We were, as I said, too late - the woman disappeared moments after our first group saw her, and your captor had - as far as witness' stories go - killed you. I can see now of course, that this not the case." He paused to give a polite cough. "After your... transformation... and subsequent disappearance -" ('Which you're not going to rest until you discover the meaning of,' Harry silently sniped as he listened, bored.) "we closed off the area and started investigating, in hopes of finding your location.

"Miss Leone Nikastal was, as you may not know, apprehended by Aurors, though we did not recover the Myrrh Cage or the daemon. The Resistance and Aurors are searching for them as I speak."

Harry watched him disinterestedly as he continued. "Voldemort -" But after that one word, Harry broke his silence.

"Get on with that," he snapped. I know what happened next, I don't need a bloody action-by-action replay! What were the results?"

Dumbledore flinched in surprise, before his eyes darted to a sheet of paper before him. "The - results? Yes, the results... twelve Death Eaters were killed or captured - four Aurors are dead -" He frowned. "Professor Figg died early on in the battle. Apparently her heart..." he trailed off. Harry guessed he didn't want to know what the spell had done to it. Whatever it was, it had left a lot of her blood still stained on the soles of his shoes.

"I'm afraid," the headmaster added quietly, "we also lost Ginny Weasley."

Harry froze.

"She was hit by a stray Killing Curse. We aren't sure exactly who shot it, or when. I'm afraid she's dead."

A pair of late-leaving sparrows chirped happily to each other outside.

"I'm sorry." Another silence. "I believe Miss Granger was quite distraught, having been attempting to shield Miss Weasley. She's been taken to St Mungos psychiatric unit, just to have a check-up. Possibly to arrange counselling."

Harry snorted in disbelief. "Counselling? Hermione's been through worse. What about Trelawney's body? Or being Petrified?"

"Those - even with the brutality with which Professor Trelawney was murdered - do not quite measure up to find yourself trying to protect the lifeless body of your former friend." Dumbledore rationalised softly. "I'm sure, however, that no counselling will be needed - Miss Granger is mature beyond her years, and very strong-willed."

'"Beyond her years" is still a child,' Harry reflected, 'and strong will doesn't stop the nightmares...'

"The Weasleys have been informed, and the children have been sent to the Burrow for a while. They will return on the first of July." Dumbledore watched Harry closely, not bothering to hind the fact he was doing so. "There are quite a lot of very large holes in our knowledge of events," he suggested slowly. "Who the woman with the sword - if there was one - was; what happened after your 'death'; where you disappeared to when you took on your phoenix Animagus form; why the Sun was blotted out for several seconds..." He trailed off.

Harry was in mood to answer; and if he had been, he wouldn't have told this manipulative old schemer anything. "What happened to the wannabe-Death Eaters?" he said, though it sounded more like a demand than a question.

Dumbledore knew what he was talking about, though he obviously didn't want to answer this question any more than Harry wanted to answer his. "Gregory Goyle has unfortunately, not been found yet. We believe he fled deeper into the Forest, and have a small group out searching for him. Draco Malfoy is in St Mungos Criminal Ward, where he has been charged with several crimes." He saw Harry's questioning, yet stony, look and elaborated.

"Several charges of conspiracy to murder, attempted murder, kidnap, aiding and abetting, use of several Unforgivable Curses - and of course, being a member of Voldemort's followers. No doubt more charges will spring to light when we investigate his recent dealings further."

Harry nodded, not really caring. At the very least, Malfoy would be spending the rest of his life in Azkaban.

"I'm afraid one of our spies, Lucius Malfoy, is dead as well as Crabbe Senior - Goyle Senior is also in St Mungos Criminal Ward - and as for Vincent Crabbe -" He paused. "Crabbe Junior is dead. There will be no charges."

"Not even over Tom's murder?" Harry sniped sarcastically. Dumbledore at least had the conscience to give the slightest hint of pain in his eyes.

"Harry, it was needed. We had to have a test -"

Harry snapped his fingers. "Of course! A test! Tell me, was the prophecy real, or did you just make that up as you went along?"

"It was real, Harry," Dumbledore assured him, "That's why we knew we needed a test. Harry, none of us wanted to do this-"

"What? Ruin who-knows-how-many people's lives? Kill people, break their families apart, torture them, trick them - and for what?" Harry snapped out, leaping to his feet and now ramming his palms onto the desk, leaning over it and scowling furiously at this disgusting man. "For crying out loud, you made rules with the Five, didn't you? Who to hurt and who not to hurt? So don't you have any rules within your organisation? Is everyone fair game as long as you win in the end?"

He turned away as he saw Dumbledore's mouth start to open. He didn't want to hear the answer, whatever it may be.

"I don't care. Honestly, I don't. I don't know why, but the only thing I'm really angry about is that I'm not angry. I can't explain it. I can't understand it. Whatever I say can't change anything. People are dead. That's done with. All I can hope now is that no-one else will have to do die in such a stupid, meaningless fashion."

He left. He didn't want to hear Dumbledore's promise that it would never happen again. He didn't.

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The other students and most of the staff were apparently having a massive 'Voldemort's dead' party in the Great Hall, which had been specially silenced for the occasion. Harry had the sneaking suspicion the entire celebration had been a ruse to make sure that no-one would get in his way.

Hagrid was nowhere to be found, and neither was Levina. He spotted Ajax, though the bird fled as soon as he was seen, which gave him the feeling that even his friends were avoiding him; possibly out of fear, or embarrassment, or the idea that he wanted to be alone. He didn't know whether to be thankful or annoyed.

Of course, Hermione wasn't here - she was still at St Mungos. The Weasleys were all at the Burrow (all except for Ginny, of course...) and - and who else was there?

Remus Lupin, perhaps, and Sirius. They weren't there, of course, but Hedwig was, all ready and waiting to carry some letters. He spent some time quietly in the Owlery, writing lengthy letters to the pair. Just a basic idea of what had happened - not even that really, as he had left out much of the story that he didn't want anyone to know - and mostly angry, tired announcements of his befuddled emotions.

When he was done with that, he slowly retired to the boy's dormitory, where on the laptop he talked to the only other available friend of the moment - Rhiannon, who he found himself commiserating with. She couldn't follow much of the story - she admitted that not knowing the setting or the people involved, she was not the best one to talk with - but she was sympathetic and interested. He told her the basics as well, all the things that Dumbledore now knew, but also of his transformation in to the Phoenix and the fight with the daemon.

He neglected to tell her that he had killed Crabbe, though, or that Dumbledore and Voldemort had been duping him from the beginning.

It was hard to believe that yesterday he had been celebrating the end of his final exam.

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Thetford Forest. Entirely devoid of Unicorns.

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When Harry awoke in the morning, feeling strangely hollow and emotionless, the first thing he noticed was that most of the other beds in the dormitory had been filled. It seemed the party had gone on late into the night, and he was thankful that none of them had disturbed him.

He checked the watch that Fred and George had given him. How childish it seemed now, scarlet and gold as though he could claim proudly and naively to be a Gryffindor, as if that were all that mattered. And the white buttons - so light, so bright, so innocent! So pure, and uncorrupted and decidedly non-desolate!

It was nearly three AM, he noted absently.

Harry slipped out of bed, pulled some robes on (he noticed the arrow-pendant Ron had found slip out of one of the pockets - had he forgot to turn it in? Well, it hardly mattered now; he put it in a drawer) and crept as quietly as possible out the door and down the stairs.

What was he meant to do? Waiting for information on anything was decidedly long and boring. It would be a long time before the post arrived, with the Daily Prophet announcing news of the Malfoys' arrest, or the fall of Voldemort - or the replies of Sirius and Remus - or perhaps a quick letter from Hermione or the Weasleys?

He made his way to the Room of Requirement, not really caring if he was spotted by Peeves or Mrs Norris.

Levina was inside.

She wasn't waiting for him (or she didn't seem to be, at least), but she looked up from sharpening an axe blade when he entered, and nodded. "Hail the conquering hero," she intoned. Harry knew her moods well enough by now to know she wasn't seriously suggesting he was a hero - but it wasn't an insult either. It was more of a sympathetic statement (or as close as she could get, anyway) acknowledging how others were going to be reacting to him.

"They can try playing the hero, next time," Harry muttered, loud enough for her to hear. She shrugged.

"There'll be a next time, don't you doubt it. And chances are, it'll be you again." She looked at him again, though he eyes held no real interest. "I didn't know it was all a plan of the Resistance. I hope you know that."

It was Harry's turn to shrug now. He sat down on one of the low benches, scuffing his feet on the wooden floor. It felt smooth, yet with a solid, comforting grip, like back when Aunt Petunia polished the kitchen floor; before she'd put the tiles put down. No - before Harry had put the tiles down, and grouted them as well.

"I think the last part has appeared," Harry said, changing the subject as he lifted up his pendant. Levina placed the axe back on its stand and walked over to take a closer look.

She stood up straight after fingering it for a few seconds. "I was right. Verae Tupris am s'Manso Turalla. Blessed Majesty of the Great Kingdom."

Harry slipped it back so it was hidden under his robes. "Do you know what happened?"

Levina nodded, understanding the question. "There are many Realms, some overlapping entirely, some completely separate from each other, some joining other Realms in only a few places. The Realm we're in at the moment is just one of an undreamed-of number."

Harry nodded. "And the one I was in?"

"The Realm of magic - or mana, to be precise. Mana is raw magic, able to be formed into almost any sort; charms or healing spells or illusions; imagine it as the oil, and the magic as the fuel made from it. There are few types of magic that can't be made from mana; daemonic magic, for a start."

"And all magic we make starts off from there?" Harry frowned, remembering the conduits that had broken through from the mana Realm to this one, channelling the magic into each Wizard's body, into each magical object...

Levina cocked her head. "Not all. A lot of it, though. As far as we know, there's an infinite amount of mana there - or as near enough as makes no difference. Perhaps there's a certain amount there, or maybe it's produced there. I don't know."

Harry snorted amusedly. "One of the few things you're willing to admit to not knowing about," he smiled a little. "So, go on then - why did the daemon go there? And how was I able to follow, anyway?"

"The daemon went there because it would be closer to the mana that way. Much easier for it to use the magic it had stolen from you to corrupt all that fresh mana and make a larger spell; and of course, less chance of it being attacked there. It wasn't expecting anyone to follow it.

"You could though, because you turned into a phoenix. How do you think they vanish and appear at will? Some beasts have the ability to Switch between Realms. The phoenix can Switch between several, I believe - though I've never asked one, so I don't know for certain." She grinned a little. "Ajax can Switch into whatever Realm you're in; the link between you is a Soul bond; it easily defies the barriers between the Realms. I'm afraid I was no help in your little fight; I used a little magic to see as Ajax could, into the Realm you were in, to watch your fight; but usually I have no power over Realms. I can't normally see or Switch into them."

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. "Outside the mana Realm, I could still see the magic around everything. That's how I knew where the daemon broke through. Is that what a phoenix sees?"

"How should I know?" Levina scoffed, turning away and back to the axe. "I'm not a bloody phoenix."

Harry waited a few seconds as he thought. "Is there anything you can tell me now? About the dragon, or any other of your lovely little mysteries? Wait - I have another one!" He sat up, leaned forwards. Levina stooped and half-turned to look at him, rather bored. "The daemon. Was it really called Syneeta?"

There was silence.

Levina watched him interestedly.

"I told you she wasn't an ordinary daemon after you first attacked her," she said finally. "She's much stronger than a normal daemon."

Harry felt his mouth drop, and for the second time in two days he leapt to his feet. "Then there's two damn things I want to know!" he barked out, "First of all, that daemon escaped! Where's it gone? And secondly, Syneeta is a mythological figure!"

"The second part is a statement, not a question," Levina purred as she kept her eyes fixed on the axe she was again sharpening. "I have no idea where the daemon's gone, but without its mistress, it will undoubtedly have no idea where to go, and will probably be spotted and captured quite soon. I have the Myrrh Cage in safe-keeping, just in case - and I made sure that no-one recognised me down at the Forest.

"And yes, Syneeta is regarded as a mythological figure. But if you don't believe in mythology, why do you wear a pendant of a goddess that doesn't exist?"

Harry frowned. "Because... it's history. It was a present. And Muggles wear necklaces of Unicorns and dragons and - and - whatever else, when they don't really believe they exist. So why shouldn't I. Gods and goddesses - they aren't real!"

"But you believe in magic," Levina pointed out. "You believe that the right words can kill someone, and that broomsticks can fly, and that a daemon can break through the Realms and blot out the Sun."

Harry stopped.

"I've seen all that," he admitted, "and I know it's true. But... I've never had any proof of gods or goddesses. I don't believe in any kind of... higher being or power."

"What about luck?" queried Levina. "Is that tangible? Can you measure it? Can you do certain things to get a certain amount of luck? Can you cause a chemical reaction to produce it?"

Another gap in the conversation. "Luck? No. But..." And another gap. "Are you trying to say that a religion that now is only a struggling, straggly remnant of what it used to be... is the 'one true religion'?"

Levina snorted. "Don't be stupid."

"But you said -"

"I asked whether you believed in luck. I never suggested there was a 'one true religion'."

Harry sighed. "Right, now I'm really confused. So, the daemon called Syneeta. Wasn't Syneeta meant to be one of the daughters of Y'Laagrondd?"

"Yes."

"And was the daemon Syneeta actually the Syneeta, daughter of Y'Laagrondd?"

"Yes."

"... So it is the real religion!"

Levina waved his delight off, rolling her eyes. "I said that the two Syneetas were one and the same. I never said there was a true religion. Will you please stop putting words in my mouth?"

He groaned. "Fine. I don't understand. Will I ever?"

"If you survive, you'll understand completely in a couple of years," Levina said tartly. "Aren't you breaking curfew?"

It was 4:30. "Not really," Harry shrugged. "We're not meant to be out after 'nine o'clock at night'. Technically it's day now."

"Semantics."

"Truth," Harry argued. "If we weren't meant to be out after nine o'clock at night - well, lessons start in the morning, and that comes after night. Technically we would never be allowed out. I can't help it if it's not specific. Anyway," he said, mocking himself, "who would dare put the precious Boy-Who-Conquered into detention? Apart from Snape, of course."

Levina raised an eyebrow. "I probably would," she said, amused, "but I'll let you off for today, since you have a lot on your mind."

"Charmed," Harry said sourly. He rubbed the back of his head. "Do you know... you know, anything? About Hermione, or the Weasleys, or the Malfoys?"

She finished the axe and replaced it on the stand, which then went on the wall. "I know Miss Granger's coping a lot better than the headmaster seems to think she is. Apart from a bit of shock and some survivors' guilt, she seems all right. She'll get over it with time; she's sensible, and her rational nature will force her to see there was nothing she could do. After that, it'll just be normal bereavement.

"The Weasleys I don't know much about - they were packed off home pretty sharpish. The Malfoys have a very impressive list of crimes between them, and inter-staff rumour has it that Malfoy Senior's likely to get the Kiss; it's not common knowledge that he's dead, yet. Draco Malfoy is a little trickier. Not being eighteen, he's still a juvenile, so the most he can get is a life-sentence in Azkaban."

"And me?"

"You're not being charged with anything," she said, as if it were obvious. "Even if anyone wanted to deny that they were Dark Wizards, and it was probably in self-defence, no-one would dare to arrest the darling of the Light - even if you weren't needed to fight the Five. I don't doubt your attention from the press is going to go up for a little while, though."

"Just what I need," Harry muttered. "If you see a beetle around anywhere, squash it."

Levina frowned at him. "Yeah... whatever. Look, seeing as you're insistent that you're not past curfew, why don't you go to the library or something -"

"In a second," Harry said, rising again. "I was just wondering... what's going to happen over the holidays?"

"Well, first of all, you're going to be continuing your Techno-magic studies," Levina said pointedly, "at a much faster pace. I'm going to be staying out of your way most of the time, but I'll chat to you via the laptop if something comes up. Apart from that, your only job will be to avoid the reporters if you go out."

"I'm going back to the Dursleys'?"

Levina looked at him with a hint of sympathy. "Those wards don't only protect you from Voldemort. The Five are going to be more interested in you than ever, now, and thanks to the descriptions of your change into a phoenix being splashed about, it'll be pretty obvious to them who the Phoenix is - not to mention a good few people happened to bring up the subject of the magpie that led them to you. That should clear up any remaining doubt, even if that was hushed up last time Leone decided a good sacrifice was in order."

She stretched. "Now, run along, if you'd be so kind. I'm quite tired myself, and I'm sure you can find something to do."

Harry gave her a mock-scowl before leaving, wandering quite aimlessly until he discovered he was doing as Levina had suggested - heading in the direction of the library. Madam Pince wasn't there - it was still too early for even the teachers to be up - but he could easily light the candles himself, so there was no worry.

Harry curled up in a corner, with a battered copy of 'The Domestic Application of Enchantments' and relaxed.

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Over the next week and a bit, Harry gradually felt himself becoming more... normal, less emotionless. Hermione returned, and Harry could see that Levina had been right; she had gone beyond her guilt astonishingly quickly, probably thanks to the other shocks and terrors she had faced when ever younger, and was now on to dealing with the bereavement - though that was hardly a piece of cake either. He certainly wasn't going to blame her for her unpredictable mood swings or occasional lapses into silence.

Remus and Sirius both sent a dozen letters of support, and Sirius was furious that they weren't able to come to Hogwarts to see Harry - but thanks to the renewed attention by reporters, even Harry had to admit that Dumbledore's insistence was probably for the best, unless he wanted to have Sirius spotted within seconds.

There wasn't a single mention of Harry's kills in any of the newspapers, except of course for Voldemort - everyone who didn't know the truth assumed that Crabbe had been killed by an Auror, and Harry was happy to leave it at that.DracoMalfoy was fully healed, and the media frenzy surrounding his upcoming trial detracted attention from Harry for a couple of days, untilhis lawyers were finally named. The trial would be during the school holidays.

Syneeta wasn't sighted. Leone wasn't mentioned at all.

Harry didn't really care.

The Weasley children returned to school on the first of July, just as Dumbledore had said. There had been a private funeral on the twenty-seventh of June - just family, though Harry and Hermione also attended. They didn't seem to be angry with either of them for not protecting Ginny; in fact, Mrs Weasley had thanked them fordoing the best they could.

It seemed they were still 'adopted members of the family'. Harry didn't find a lot of comfort in that thought.

Fred and George returned to school subdued. Ron was worse, and Harry couldn't blame him for his mood swings or silent lapses either. He had far more guilt than Hermione though; rather than blaming himself for being there and not doing anything, like Hermione had in the beginning, he blamed himself for not being there in the first place, for not seeing that his little sister was under the Imperius.

Harry wished that he too could blame himself, could feel guilty. He did in a way, but what could he have done? Protected Ginny? Then no-one would have killed Voldemort, and between the two choices, he would still make the same one - even if Voldemort was really just Tom...

They left for home on the fifth of July, a day after the raucous celebrations of Gryffindor winning the House Cup for the fifth year in a row; Ron and Hermione nowhere near recovered emotionally, but still far better than they had been when they came back to school a little while ago. Knowing that Voldemort was dead - even if they didn't know the truth about him - probably helped.

The Weasleys met them at the station, Mrs Weasley hugging him as tightly as ever - her maternal instincts were probably in overdrive, Harry mused. And so, bidding his friends goodbye, Harry stepped past the barrier into the Muggle World, and walked alone once more.