The Riddle of Jim Lillian
Part Nine: Harry's Tale
Standard Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
WARNING: Major Character Deaths
Part Nine Summary: Harry confronts Voldemort for the last time and the Riddle begins.
June 5th, 1998 (the day of the Final Battle):
Harry had left Professor Dumbledore hidden behind the statue. They agreed that Harry should not carry Dumbledore anywhere else due to the fact that the elder wizard was injured and should not be moved. Dumbledore kept insisting that Fawkes' tears would eventually heal his wound and that he would be fine. Harry was hesitant to leave the injured Headmaster alone, but Dumbledore insisted that if any trouble should arise that Fawkes would be able to teleport him to safety.
As the pressure from his scar lead him down toward the basement, Harry cursed himself for not realizing that he knew of a possible way to stop Voldemort for over a year now. He had read the critical passage on blood-rituals, but he had done so after a long and grueling study session and the only excuse he could make up was that he had been very tired and his brain was addled. He remembered that he barely kept his eyes open as he read the section pertaining to blood with magical properties. Dumbledore had even asked Harry if had understood what he had read and if he had any questions on the subject. Harry vaguely recalled answering "no" and promptly yawning. It was a miracle that Harry's mind had registered those few paragraphs at all he had been so tired at the time.
Dumbledore's habit of letting the student discover things on his own was often infuriating. He believed that if the student learned a subject with only a little guidance that the student had a better grasp on the subject. So, naturally, when Harry said that he had understood the section of blood rituals, Dumbledore did not press the issue.
It was ironic when he considered the situation. Voldemort took Harry's blood in order to defend himself against the young wizard's blood protection. Now that same stolen blood which kept Harry's touch from harming The Dark Lord would, hopefully, lead to his downfall.
Harry heard explosions coming from distant parts of the castle. Apparently, the school professors were giving the Death Eaters quite a fight. While Harry was worried for the professors' safety, he was confident that they could dish out some punishment to the Death Eaters.
Harry rounded a corner and headed down the stairs to the basement. His scar was tingling, telling him that he was getting closer to his destiny.
As he walked down the stairs, Harry examined the wound in his hand. The blood coming from the gash in his right palm slowed to a trickle.
Harry heard a familiar high pitched, cold voice echoing off of the corridor walls. It was Voldemort.
The Dark Lord was speaking with someone, but Harry could not hear the other person's voice well enough to identify who it was. Harry moved towards the sound of his nemesis' voice. He felt as if he was getting closer. Soon he would see them.
But before Harry could see the two people, he heard Voldemort clearly say, "I was going to wait until after I killed Potter and the old man to give you your just reward… but it seems that I must deal with you first."
Through their connection, Harry felt the hatred and sadistic joy build up in Voldemort. Harry knew before he heard the two words of The Killing Curse that someone was going to die.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Harry's blood chilled as he heard a body fall lifelessly to the floor, as if the unknown victim was a marionette whose strings had been cut. Harry ran toward the sound of Voldemort's voice. This was going to end today, and Harry was confident that the old snake would cause no more deaths.
"Now to deal with the whores," Harry heard Voldemort say. Knowing Voldemort, Harry thought that the fiend's plan was to find and kill Hermione and Ginny just to be able to further taunt Harry when he and The Dark Lord would confront each other.
As Harry turned the corner, he saw the tall, skeletal-thin figure of Voldemort standing over the dead body of Wormtail. Harry felt a small twinge of pity for the small man that Harry's father had considered a friend. Harry had tried to hate Peter for betraying his parents and Sirius, but all he could feel was pity.
Several years ago, Dumbledore had told Harry that the young wizard had earned a life debt from Peter when Harry saved his life from a vengeful Remus and Sirius. As Harry saw Wormtail's dead body, he wondered what Peter would have done if he had been given the chance to repay that debt.
Voldemort stepped over Pettigrew's body as if the corpse was nothing, and began inspecting the tapestry that hid the door to the school kitchen. Harry did not even try considering why the monster was looking at the tapestry as he tried to silently approach Voldemort from behind, but apparently Voldemort sensed Harry's presence through their shared connection.
"Ah, if it isn't the The-Boy-Who-Lived," Voldemort mocked with his back toward Harry. "You have saved me the trouble of looking for you," Voldemort laughed and turned to face Harry. "Your vaunted luck has finally run out boy. It is time you paid for all the aggravation you have caused."
Harry did not say a word as he stared into his foe's blood-red eyes. Harry continued to stride toward Voldemort.
"Just to let you know, after I finish you, I will take out my frustration on your little whore," Voldemort said with a smirk and pointed his wand directly at Harry. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
With a wave of his empty hand, Harry silently cast a Banishing Charm on a loose flagstone in the floor. The flagstone was torn away from the floor and flew in front of Voldemort's curse. The large stone slammed into the green bolt and exploded. Harry stopped his advance and shielded his face with his arm as fragments of the flagstone shot in every direction.
As the dust from the explosion settled, Harry saw Voldemort clutching his forehead in pain. Voldemort pulled his hand away and looked in shock at the blood that now covered it.
"How did you do that?" Voldemort hissed at Harry. Harry had noticed a deep cut on Voldemort's head that was practically gushing blood. Harry then flexed his hand, reopening the cut on his own palm to intentionally make the blood flow freely again. "You will pay for that, boy! AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Harry cast another Banishing Charm to send a suit of armor flying into the path of the Killing Curse. With a sound of twisting metal, the armor twisted and crumpled as the curse struck it. Harry rushed at Voldemort and with his left hand grabbed the Dark Lord's right wrist and pushed up so that Voldemort's wand was pointing up and out of the way.
"Let me go, fool!" Voldemort shouted in Harry's face.
Harry slapped his injured hand on top of the cut in Voldemort's head. Voldemort tried to pull away from Harry's hand but it was as if someone had cast a Sticking Charm onto the hand.
When his blood touched Voldemort's blood, Harry felt their connection intensify. Harry saw flashes of images full of hate and anger coming from Voldemort's mind. The young wizard knew that he had to fight Voldemort's hate with the power that ran through his own blood. Harry screwed his eyes shut and focused on that power. The power that Voldemort knew not: love.
Memories began to flood Harry's mind, memories of happiness and love.
When Harry turned sixteen, Remus Lupin gave him a present that he would cherish for his entire life. It was one of Remus' memories in a Pensieve. It was a memory from when Harry was barely a week old, still in his swaddling cloth. His mother, Lily, was singing a lullaby to him.
To Harry, who had only heard his mother's voice a total of three times before, once in a Pensieve of Snape's memory from when she was 15 years old, second, whenever the Dementors approached Harry, as he heard her voice pleading for mercy just before she was murdered, and when Harry first dueled with Voldemort, a shade of his mother appeared and spoke briefly to Harry, this was a priceless treasure. Her voice was like an angel's, full of love and joy.
But it was just not her voice that struck Harry; it was the way she looked. She was so very happy as she looked at the baby in her arms that she was literally radiant. The love that Lily had felt for Harry filled the young man with unmeasured joy and bliss.
"Your blood-protection won't work anymo…" Voldemort began to say but was cut off by the powerful emotions in Harry mind.
Lily's beautiful voice filled Harry's mind:
"Golden slumber kiss your eyes,
Smiles await you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty baby,
Do not cry,
And I'll sing you a lullaby."
Voldemort let out a painful groan. Harry could feel the villain's skin begin to heat up.
"Care you know not,
Therefore sleep,
While I o'er you watch do keep.
Sleep, pretty darling,
Do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby."
If Harry had his eyes open, he would have seen steam rising from beneath his hand.
As Lily's voice continued to sing in his mind, Harry recalled the first time he talked with his godfather, Sirius Black. They had just captured Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius asked if Harry would like to leave the Dursleys and live with him. Harry had been so happy at that time that he felt like he could have made the most magnificent Patronus ever. He immediately told his godfather yes. But Pettigrew escaped and Sirius had to go back into hiding.
Sirius was the first adult Harry trusted and truly cared for. He was like a brother and a father rolled into one.
Unfortunately, Harry never told Sirius how he felt. Harry's mind involuntarily flashed to the image of Sirius falling through the Veil. He remembered how it felt to lose the only person Harry knew as family. How Bellatrix Lestrange mocked Harry and his loss. Then he remembered the rage and hatred that billowed up inside of him as he cast the Cruciatus Curse on that bitch.
As Harry's concentration slipped, he received a vision from Voldemort in a feedback, through their connection. Harry saw a seventeen-year-old Tom Riddle walk into a beautifully decorated room where an elderly couple and a middle aged man demanded to know how he had gotten in. Tom raised his wand and pointed it at the middle-aged man.
"I just wanted to say 'hello,' Father," Tom said with an evil smile. The man's, Tom Sr., eyes bulged in realization. But before the elder Riddle could say anything, the young wizard pointed his wand at the old woman.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Tom Marvolo Riddle shouted. The woman crumpled to the floor. The older man was the next to fall to the Killing curse. Then, finally Tom, Sr. was killed.
Harry felt Voldemort's anger and sadistic pleasure connected with this memory of murdering his father and grandparents. The young wizard tried to block out Voldemort's hatred. But Voldemort forced another image into Harry's mind.
Tom Marvolo Riddle could not have been more than 8 years old during this particular memory. The boy was receiving a caning from the Director of the orphanage where he lived. Tom had a bout of accidental magic earlier and turned another boy's hair a putrid green. The Director was viciously beating Tom and called him a "freak!"
With his eyes still closed, Harry felt his hand start to burn. The pain in his hand reminded him of the time when he was little and he burnt his hand on the handle to a frying pan. The pan and its contents of eggs and bacon fell to the floor as Harry cried out in agony. Uncle Vernon was so angry with Harry that he threw the boy into the cupboard under the stairs. Before he slammed the door shut, Vernon shouted, "This is what you get for wasting food in this house, FREAK!"
His uncle had a very similar expression of rage the summer before Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts when Hermione had come to see Harry.
Harry had come out of his room when he heard his uncle screaming at the person who had knocked on the front door. Harry was shocked to hear Hermione's voice demanding to see him. He remembered how his uncle had refused to let Hermione enter his house, and how Hermione pushed her petite frame past the mass of flesh that was Vernon Dursley and ran up towards Harry. He did not ask why she was there; he just smiled sadly at her. Hermione embraced Harry lovingly. The two teens did not talk for what seemed like hours. Harry just cried softly into her hair, mourning for his lost godfather.
Once again, Lily's voice filled Harry's memories:
"Care you know not,
Therefore sleep,
While I o'er you watch do keep…"
The pain in Harry's hand disappeared and the putrid smell of boiling meat entered Harry's nose. Voldemort's groan turned into a pitiful cry.
Harry remembered when he first kissed Hermione. It was at the beginning of their seventh year, and to say that they were nervous would have been an understatement. They actually bumped their noses when they first attempted to kiss. Hermione had become so flustered that she started verbally planning how they should kiss; what angles their faces should be at, wondering if she should wet her lips beforehand, how much her lips should be parted, and whether they should wait and kiss another day.
Harry had cut off Hermione's monologue by leaning forward and pressing his lips gently to hers. His heart felt as if it would burst out of his chest at first. But then he and Hermione both melted into the kiss. It was an innocent kiss filled with hope and promise. It made him warm and made his lips tingle.
But the kiss was so much more than physical; it was almost spiritual. The two gave in to the kiss completely. They were complete. They were whole. They both fell asleep in each other's arms that night.
"Smiles await you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty baby,
Do not cry,
And I'll sing you a lullaby."
Suddenly, Voldemort stopped crying and his head broke free from Harry's hand with a sickening squelching sound. The fiend's body fell to the floor with a thud.
Harry opened his eyes in disbelief. He stared at Voldemort's lifeless body at his feet. It was over. Voldemort was dead and Harry was alive.
In his wildest dreams, the ones where he dared to think he could defeat Voldemort and survive, he had always imagined that, at best, he would have lost a limb or, at worst, be severely wounded. But the only injuries that Harry received were mild burn blisters and a small gash across his palm.
"Well, that was a bit anti-climatic," Harry said to no one in particular.
A huge smile spread across Harry's face. The worst dark wizard in fifty years was dead. The prophesy was complete, and he was alive. He was free. It was over; he could lead a normal life. With Hermione.
Then, without warning, Harry's scar erupted with pain. He fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Harry's lungs let out an unholy scream. A scream that felt like it was ripping his throat apart.
He had never felt pain like this before. The Cruciatus Curse was nothing more than an annoying itch. The time Harry was possessed by Voldemort in the Ministry was a simple dull ache in comparison.
It felt as if his blood was boiling in his veins. His bones felt like they were being shattered and crushed. The muscles in his body felt as if they were snapping.
His mind begged for release, for the sweet mercy of oblivion. It was a pain that no one should suffer. It was a pain that he could not endure.
'Mum, please help me!' Harry's mind screamed out to heaven. 'Please, mum, make it stop!'
In his mind, Harry begged for the pain to end. He begged his mother, his father, and Sirius for help.
He realized that they were dead, but Hermione wasn't. She was the brightest witch in their generation. She would be able to help him.
'Please, Hermione, make it stop!' his mind called out as his body continued its unholy scream.
Harry felt Hermione trying to get to him, but she felt a million miles away.
'Help me Hermione!'
The agony continued, as did his screams. Harry felt his mind begin to slip away as the pain ate at him.
Then it stopped. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Harry stared up at the ceiling. His clothes clung to his body, damp with his own sweat. He was completely drained and his mind was blank. His body felt as if it had fallen a dozen stories and landed on a pile of broken glass.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a tall man wearing blue robes shuffle up to him. Fawkes circled above Harry before landing on Dumbledore's arm.
"Come along now, Harry," Harry heard Dumbledore say. "We have much to do and little time to do it."
Before Harry lost conscious, he felt Dumbledore take his hand and then he, Dumbledore, and Fawkes disappeared in a flash of light.
"Sleep, pretty baby,
Do not cry,
And I'll sing you a lullaby."
Harry awoke from a deep, dreamless slumber to a pleasant tingling sensation in his right hand. He opened his eyes to see Fawkes crying his magical tears into Harry's palm, healing the minor wound.
"'lo, Fawkes," Harry said.
Something seemed odd to Harry, as if something was missing. Looking around, the young wizard quickly realized that he was in the Headmasters office. But, he noticed that all of the portraits of the former Headmasters were no longer hanging on the walls.
"I see you've notice that my esteemed predecessors are not with us right now," Dumbledore said weakly from his chair behind the desk.
Harry gasped at the Headmaster's condition. He was paler than any ghost Harry had seen and the ancient wizard was hunched over in his chair. Harry hurried to Dumbledore's side and almost slipped in a pool of the old man's blood. It seemed to Harry that he had lost all of his blood and was staying alive through a sheer force of will alone.
"Professor, we have to get you to the hospital ward," Harry cried. The young man turned to the phoenix. "Fawkes, get him there now!"
Fawkes seemed to shake his head sadly at Harry.
"It is quite alright, Harry," Dumbledore said as he looked into Harry's eyes. "Remember when I told you that death is just another adventure?"
Harry nodded as a single tear escaped his eyes.
"I am ready for that next adventure," Dumbledore patted Harry's arm affectionately. "I am old and would like to see some of my friends that have gone on before me. Please sit down Harry." Dumbledore gestured to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. "I do not have much time left"
Harry lowered himself into the chair.
"Now that Voldemort is truly dead and you are alive you have two options open to you," Dumbledore said. "The first option is that Harry Potter survived."
Harry knitted his brow in confusion. Why was Dumbledore referring to Harry in the third-person, as if he wasn't right here? And if the first option was "Harry Potter survived", what could the other option possible be? Harry opened his mouth to ask what the Headmaster meant when Dumbledore held up his hand to silence him.
"There are a number of Death Eaters that will escape justice today," Dumbledore continued. "Because of the Dark Mark burnt into their arms, they know their master is dead and won't be coming back this time. They will seek vengeance; not only upon Harry Potter, but upon the ones he loves as well."
Harry's heart sank; Dumbledore had just confirmed what Malfoy had said to Harry before the evil ponce was Obliviated. He tried to imagine leading a normal life with Hermione, but the thought of Death Eaters pursuing them plagued his mind.
"Not to mention that every witch and wizard who envisions themselves as the next 'Dark Lord' will want to test their mettle against Harry Potter," Dumbledore said. "And then there will be something far more terrifying and damaging than any dark wizard: the public.
"Harry Potter was the hero of the wizarding world when Voldemort's curse rebounded upon himself when Harry was just a baby," Dumbledore continued. "Now, Harry Potter has dueled with Voldemort and won. The fame that has haunted him these past few years will seem like nothing. For the next several years, people will be naming their children some variation of 'Harry.' He will be given job offers, not based on his merits, but on what his name is. Men will try to emulate him. Women will throw themselves at his feet just to be near him. And society will believe that no mere muggle born witch would ever be good enough for him. Harry Potter will be worshiped as a hero."
Harry slumped in his chair. The gravity of what Dumbledore had just told him lay heavy upon his shoulders.
"This, I image, is no way for one to live their life. Do you not agree, Harry?" Dumbledore asked to which Harry nodded his head.
"This brings me to your second option," Dumbledore stated. "Harry Potter defeated Voldemort, but, tragically, he died from a mortal wound."
"Professor, I don't understand."
"If Harry Potter died as a martyr, no Death Eater could seek vengeance upon him, for he would already be dead. His loved ones would be watched closely by the public in such a manner that no Death Eater would or could try to harm them." Dumbledore began to explain. "Families will put shrines in their houses for him. Monuments will be erected in his memory. His loved ones will be pursued for some time by society, but when Harry Potter's myth eventually outgrows reality, society will forget about the people that Harry considered 'family.' Harry Potter will be worshiped, I dare say, like a god."
The room fell silent as Harry pondered his "options" as Dumbledore called them. Harry did not like the idea of living under the scrutiny of the public eye. But the only way out of that particular situation was if he didn't survive the battle with Voldemort. Would Harry have to fake his own death? Would he have to leave the people he loved behind?
"Harry, I would like you to meet someone," Dumbledore said drawing Harry out of his thoughts. Dumbledore placed a picture on the desk in front of him. Harry leaned over the desk and was surprised to see a photo from his parents wedding. It was very similar to the one Harry had. It showed his parents, Lily and James, along with his godfather, Sirius. The three people smiled and waved happily to whomever had taken the picture.
Dumbledore waved his hand over the picture, and Lily, James, and Sirius began to merge together into an image of one person. This person had Sirius' long, straight hair but with Lily's auburn color. He had James' brow and cheekbones, Sirius' chin, and Lily's nose. But the most shocking thing about his appearance was his eyes. Behind the glasses that came from James, Harry saw his mother's unique green eyes.
"Harry, please meet… Jim Lillian," Dumbledore said as Harry examined the picture. "Tom Riddle's mother had loved her son, and she had named him after his father in hopes that the father would grow past his bigotry and learn to love the boy. Unfortunately, his father rejected him, and Tom turned the name his mother had given him out of love into something that was feared and hated."
Harry recalled when he confronted a sixteen-year-old memory of Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets. He remembered how Tom had said that he refused to share his name with his "foul" muggle father. Harry remembered how smug the shadow of Tom had been when he wrote "Tom Marvolo Riddle" magically in mid-air, and with a flick of his wand, changed it to "I am Lord Voldemort."
"Now, I may not have the flare for anagrams that Tom had, but I decided to celebrate your parents," Dumbledore said with a weak chuckle. "You see 'Jim' is short for 'James,' and if you say this young man's surname first and his given name second…"
"Lillian, James," Harry finished for the Headmaster.
"Yes, which sounds remarkably like 'Lily and James,'" Dumbledore said with a smile. "I have created a full and detailed history for this young man. He is a muggle born who was sorted into Hufflepuff House. He did well in the same classes you did well in. He also has a sizable account at Gringotts. Unfortunately his parents have just died in an auto accident."
"But sir, I know I can alter my features to match his," Harry felt a little strange talking about a fictitious person, "but everyone will still recognize me. I can't change this damn scar."
Harry pointed to the scar that had adorned his forehead since he was eighteen months old. He was surprised when his finger brushed up against smooth skin. Harry's fingers played across his forehead in a vain attempt to find the jagged lighting bolt scar.
"It is gone, Harry," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes. "That scar was a physical side-effect of a magical connection between you and Voldemort. That is why you could never change it through your Metamorphmagus abilities.
"When Voldemort died, so did the connection," Dumbledore continued. "That is why you felt so much pain earlier. The connection was overloading, or 'burning-out' if you will.
"Now that the connection between you and Lord Voldemort is gone, so is your scar," Dumbledore concluded.
Harry lowered his hands and looked at the picture of "Jim Lillian" again, memorizing his features.
"I had hoped that your confrontation with Voldemort would not have happened for a few more years. I had planned to alter memories of some key people, like the professors and some students. I would have had to implant years of memories of interactions with Mr. Lillian into at least a dozen people. But, this is not a perfect world and I did not have the time. Altering a magical person's memory is extremely difficult, especially to the degree of adding a fictitious person into their minds. I would suggest you not attempt it."
The headmaster handed Harry a small vial.
"This is a very special potion," Dumbledore said as Harry took the vial from him. "It will alter you magical signature so that any means of magical identification will identify you as 'Jim Lillian' and not as 'Harry Potter.'"
"You mean like the Marauders' Map?" Harry asked and Dumbledore nodded. "And post owls right?"
"If school was still in progress, I would have awarded ten points to Gryffindor," Dumbledore smiled. "Excuse me, Mr. Lillian is in Hufflepuff. Ten points to Hufflepuff."
Harry swallowed the sweet tasting potion in one gulp. He then closed his eyes and imagined his features changing into those of Jim Lillian. He felt his hair grow in length to touch his shoulders, and the bones in his face rearrange. After a few seconds, Harry opened his eyes and looked at the dying Headmaster.
"Very good… Jim," Dumbledore said with a tear in his eye. "Now I have a favor I need to ask of you. When I am gone, Fawkes will need to bond with another wizard to replace me. I dare say that he has already chosen you."
Harry looked at the phoenix and Fawkes seemed to sing his agreement. Harry turned his attention back to the Headmaster. Harry's heart sank as he saw that Dumbledore had slumped even farther into his chair.
"Please Professor; let me take you to Madame Pomfrey," Harry pleaded with the old man. He knew in his heart that Dumbledore did not have much time left.
"I have lived a long life, Harry. You have just started yours," Dumbledore said weakly, his life ebbing away as he spoke. "For people to truly believe that Harry perished, they will need to see a body. If we were just to say that 'Harry' died in the final battle but there was no body to show for it, far too many people would be suspicious. But if 'Harry's' body was to be found, it would be more believable. If you were to transfigure an inanimate object into a version of yourself, far too many people have the ability to 'see' if an object is inanimate or not. And these people would be able to notice that 'Harry's' body had never been alive. If they were to discover that the body is an inanimate object, the truth would be revealed. These people would pry into what truly happened here today until you were exposed."
Dumbledore closed his eyes in pain as a violent coughing fit rocked his body. Harry rushed to his side and took his hand in his. Harry was taken back at how very cold Dumbledore's hand was.
"If the wrong people were to find out this secret, your life would be ruined," Dumbledore forced the words out with his eyes still screwed shut. "But if you used a dead body, because it was once truly alive, no one would be the wiser."
"What do you mean, Sir?" Harry asked the question to which he already knew the answer to, but dreaded.
"When I die, which I imagine will be very shortly, you will need to transfigure my body to look like yours," Dumbledore answered.
"Professor, I can't," Harry exclaimed. "You have touched so many people. You have made their lives better just by being a part of theirs. They need to say goodbye to you."
"I have made far too many mistakes concerning your life Harry," Dumbledore argued. Each word was a struggle for the old man. "And those mistakes have caused you a great deal of pain and suffering. If people believe that Harry died today, you can start a normal life as Jim. You won't be hounded and hunted. Please let me atone for my mistakes and help you create a new and better life."
For a silent moment, Harry weighed what he had been told.
"Alright, sir I'll do it," Harry said as another tear fell from his eyes.
"Good, thank you," Dumbledore said weakly.
Harry watched as Dumbledore's breath become more labored and shallow. He recalled how much time he had spent with the ancient wizard over the past two years. Dumbledore had helped Harry in a number of subjects, and he had excelled in classes that had been a struggle before the Headmaster's tutoring.
But the two had spent a great deal of time on things other than school subjects. He helped Harry in issues of the heart as well. Harry remembered the first few months of his sixth year when Dumbledore mended the rift that had developed the previous year. During the countless times that the two shared tea, Dumbledore told Harry how his mother, Lily, had helped James, his father, mature into a gentle and caring man. In fact, Harry had approached Dumbledore when he needed help in his own budding relationship with Hermione. To help Harry with the ups and downs of dating, the old wizard had shared stories of how James and Lily had a difficult time transitioning into an affectionate relationship, and how he and his deceased wife had worked through their own courtship.
Far too many people had died in Harry's life: his parents and Sirius, and people that Harry considered family, Ron, Neville, and Luna. Now Harry watched as Dumbledore slowly slipped away. He realized that this man had grown to be part of Harry's family as well. And just like his mother, his father, and Sirius, Dumbledore was going to die. Harry regretted never really knowing his parents before they died and that he wasn't able to tell Sirius what he meant to him or even to say goodbye.
With tears flooding his eyes, Harry leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Dumbledore's forehead.
"Goodbye, grandfather."
A smile appeared on Dumbledore's face and a tear escaped his eye.
"I will see you again, Harry, in many, many years," the ancient wizard said and then drifted away silently. Fawkes trilled a mournful tune and Harry wept.
After a few moments of holding Dumbledore's hand, Harry stood up. He examined himself in the floor-length mirror in the corner of the room.
"I reckon this will take some getting used to," Harry said to his refection. Fawkes gracefully flew from his perch and landed on Harry's shoulder. He smiled at the magical bird. "'Lo, Fawkes. My name is Jim, Jim Lillian."
The phoenix sang a greeting to "Jim."
Harry looked once more at the body of Dumbledore.
"Goodbye, sir, thank you for everything," Harry said and closed his eyes.
Harry focused his mind on how he used to look. Transfiguring Dumbledore's body was going to take some effort on his part. The two most obvious things that Harry had to recreate, the general features of his face and his infamous scar, would be easy. He considered his scar the easiest thing to copy. He had seen that lighting bolt shape thousands of times in the mirror. Replicating his thin face and wild hair was going to be fairly simple. It was the tiny lines that creased his face that were going to be the difficult part.
When Harry felt he had successfully visualized what he used to look like, he muttered the necessary incantation and waved his hand over Dumbledore's body. Harry opened his eyes to see a mirror image of his former self sitting where Dumbledore once was.
"This is it, then," the now auburn-haired wizard sighed. "There's no turning back."
He had to get to the Room of Requirement; Harry had to get to Hermione to make sure that she was safe. He also had to tell her about the secret before someone told her that he was dead. Harry could not bear the thought of Hermione grieving over him.
As a means for getting to the Room, Harry briefly considered using Fawkes' ability of teleporting to get there. But without the Marauders' Map, Harry could not tell if the hall in front of the Room would be empty or not. The thought of magically appearing in front of someone and then trying to explain to that person who he was and why he had Dumbledore's pet phoenix was far too risky. He then considered using a Disillusionment Charm on Fawkes and himself to make them invisible and then teleporting to the room. But Harry knew that the phoenix sent off a burst of flame whenever he teleported and Harry doubted that the Disillusionment Charm would hide the magical burst. So Harry settled on Disillusioning himself and Fawkes and walking to the Room, instead.
It took him a long time to get to the Room because Harry decided to take the back route rather than risk running into anyone. Even though he and Fawkes, who was perched on his shoulder, were practically invisible, he did not want to chance any form of contact with people. Harry figured that if he was unlucky, he would run into someone like "Mad-Eye" Moody and be discovered. After several long minutes, he finally reached the painting of Barnabus the Barmy.
Harry paced the hall, concentrating on finding Hermione and Ginny. The door didn't appear on his third pass, much to Harry's surprise. He paced again, this time focusing his thoughts on opening the door to the room. The third time Harry passed, a door magically appeared.
He quickly opened the door and entered a small, stark white room. Horror-struck, Harry scanned the empty room.
"Where are they?" Harry asked aloud with a quiver in his voice. The phoenix answered with a sad trill.
'Why aren't they here?' Harry asked himself. 'What could've happened?'
A sudden chill ran through Harry's body, as if he was doused with a bucket of ice water. A terrible thought entered Harry's mind:
'What if they didn't make it? What if the Death Eaters got her?'
Harry's mind was filled with terrible images of a defenseless Hermione and Ginny being attacked by Death Eaters. He sank to his knees muttering, "No, no, no."
He had to find her; he had to make sure Hermione was safe. Harry didn't care if was seen by someone and his secret was discovered. He had to find her!
A hissing sound drew Harry's attention. The wall in front of him was being covered with thick silver smoke clouds, which were being blown up from the floor. Before Harry's eyes, the clouds of smoke began to from into solid shapes. Harry saw the clouds form into the familiar shapes of Hermione and Ginny. The Room was showing Harry where the girls were.
Harry saw that Hermione and Ginny were huddled together on a small bench somewhere, but Harry couldn't tell where they were. The magical forms grew so detailed that Harry saw that Ginny was trying to silently comfort Hermione and that Hermione had a drained, almost lifeless expression on her face. The clouds slowly began to fill in the details of the room where the girls were. They were sitting in front of a fireplace that Harry vaguely recalled. A small bit of the cloud formed itself into a shape of a house-elf. The elf moved towards the two girls and tried to offer them some pumpkin juice, but Ginny waved the tiny creature away.
It suddenly dawned upon Harry where the two girls were; they were in the school kitchen! The two girls must have gone through the basement in hopes of bypassing any Death Eaters, but had somehow ended up in the kitchen. They would have heard the confrontation between Harry and Voldemort. For all Hermione and Ginny knew, Harry had fallen in the battle.
He had to get to Hermione. She obviously thought that Harry was dead or dying. Harry had to go to her, to alleviate her suffering, to tell her that he was okay. Harry turned toward the door when he heard a banging noise coming from the cloud image.
Harry heard two muffled voices calling Ginny's name. Harry knew that it had to be the Weasley twins, Fred and George. They must have found the Marauders' Map and used it to locate their sister and Hermione.
"Open the door. It''s all over," Harry turned as he heard the cloud version of Hermione say.
Harry watched as ghostly reproductions of the Weasleys rushed into the kitchen and carry both girls out into the hallway.
In the hallway, a new, very large figure walked into view. Harry's blood ran cold as he saw Hagrid carrying Dumbledore's transfigured body past the Weasleys and Hermione. For all that Hermione knew, that was the body of Harry. She started to scream.
Harry slumped to the floor; he could not endure to see his love suffering so much. What he saw next did nothing to ease his pain.
Harry watched helplessly as Hermione was moved to the Headmaster's office and gave her testimony of what had happened. In his heart, Harry wanted so desperately to storm into the office and tell her the truth, to tell her that he was alive. But in his mind, he knew that he could not. For if he did, everything that Dumbledore had sacrificed in order for Harry to have a normal life would be destroyed. So Harry just sat in the Room, sobbing as he watched as his Hermione told her tale.
When Hermione had finished her testimony, Remus stood and said that he was taking her to the Hospital Ward to pay her respects.
"Fawkes," Harry said turning to the phoenix on his shoulder, "teleport to the cave in the mountain where Sirius hid during my third year. I'll meet up with you later."
With a flash, Fawkes disappeared. Harry stood and walked out of the Room of Requirement and made his way towards the Hospital Ward.
After a few agonizing minutes, Harry, who was still disillusioned, slipped into the Ward and saw that someone had cast a privacy charm around the far bed. Harry knew that Hermione was in that black bubble; he could feel her.
Harry slowly made his way up to the bubble and pushed his way through it. When he entered the bubble, Harry immediately noticed that Hermione was worrying her lower lip, a habit that she always did when she was faced with a difficult problem. Harry followed her eyes and saw that she was staring intently at the scar on the body's forehead. Obviously, Hermione noticed that something was wrong. She slowly pulled her wand out of her pocket and raised it in the air.
This made Harry wonder what he did wrong during the transfiguration of Dumbledore's body that caught Hermione's interest, particularly the scar. Harry was positive that he had gotten that part down. He had that bloody scar for as long as he could remember. When he was in primary school, it had made him unique; something that the other kids didn't have. When he first entered Hogwarts, it made him a hero. Shortly after that, the scar brought him infamy.
Harry was positive that he had done the scar right; he had seen the damned thing thousands of times in the mirror. Then it hit him: Mirror.
He had stupidly created a mirror copy of his scar on Dumbledore's forehead! The scar was reversed.
Before Harry could open his mouth, Hermione brought her wand down.
"Finite Incantatem," she said clearly.
Harry quickly maneuvered his hand in-between Hermione's wand and the body. The wand touched Harry's palm and it felt as if warm water was trickling up his hand. The Disillusionment Charm was being lifted off of Harry's body.
Hermione took a step back in shock as she saw an unknown person appear in front of her. She pointed her wand at him and took a defensive stance. Harry knew that she was preparing herself to launch a stunner at him.
Harry saw that she was quickly taking in his new features, trying to recognize him as a friend or foe. She skimmed over his body and long auburn hair. Her hazel eyes then fell on his green eyes.
"Harry?" Hermione sobbed.
TBC