The Last Letter

Third and final installment in the "Letters from Albus" Trilogy

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was used to people expecting him to be strong. He did, after all, carry the burden of the entire Wizarding World on his shoulders. In the last few years, those expectations had matured him beyond his young age. There was one person that could be counted on to share that responsibility, to ease the burden from young Harry's shoulders when things got too tough. However, that person was no longer there, and for the first time since he found out that he was a wizard, Harry felt truly alone in the role that now lay before him.

Harry stared at the fire, which blazed in the Gryffindor common room, unaware of the shadows that flickered on the wall behind him. He gripped the arms of the chair, squeezing tightly as the memory of the Headmaster falling to his death replayed in his mind. He rubbed his eyes in frustration. Why could he not get that image out of his mind? It was constantly haunting him. Perhaps, it was because even though Dumbledore may have meddled in his life in many ways, Harry believed that it was because the old man cared for him and cared about what happened to him. Something Harry was definitely not used to.

His jaw tightened as Snape's sneering face flickered through his mind. He had told Dumbledore that Snape couldn't be trusted, but he just wouldn't listen. In the end, it turned out that Harry had been right. His stomach dropped. This was not how he wanted to be proven right, however. Even Hermione had tried to convince him that Dumbledore had his reasons for trusting Snape. He never did figure out how she had managed to be fooled by that greasy bastard. Well, it didn't matter. Harry would wipe that smirk off Snape's face if it was the last thing he did. Voldemort was no longer his first priority. That had changed the moment that Snape had betrayed Dumbledore. The moment he had betrayed the Order. The moment he had betrayed Harry. He was staring so intently into the fire, planning his revenge on Snape that he failed to see Hermione creep into the room and sit in the chair across from him. He jumped when she said his name.

"Harry?" she asked quietly, worried by the cold expression on his face. "How did things go with Professor McGonagall?"

Harry focused on her, blinking his eyes rapidly. He cleared his throat and shifted in the chair. "Umm, it went well. I think I got through to her. You were right that I should bring up the fact that he wouldn't have wanted her to hide away in her rooms."

The irony that Harry was now hiding away in his rooms was not lost on Hermione. She bit her lip, unsure of what to say to her friend who was obviously in such pain. She knew that in many ways, Harry had looked to the Headmaster as a father figure, and she couldn't imagine what she would be feeling if she lost her father.

"Harry, I'm worried about you," she said evenly, keeping her eyes trained on his face. She watched as he winced slightly, before a cool look settled on his features.

"I'm fine, Hermione. Really, I am. It's just been a rough week, what with everything that has happened."

Hermione nodded and gazed into the fire. Harry had seen so much loss in his life. It just didn't seem fair that he was expected to give and suffer so much.

"Has anyone heard about Snape's whereabouts?" Harry asked casually, his blood boiling by the very sound of the man's name.

Hermione turned back to Harry. "No, and don't do anything foolish, Harry. We don't know exactly what happened."

His green eyes widened and he stared at her in shock. "Don't know what happened? I was there, Hermione. I saw it. There is no question in my mind what happened that night, and I will not rest until Snape is forced to pay for his actions." His hands were balled into fists and he trembled with anger.

Hermione inclined her head and chose her words very carefully. She didn't want to anger Harry any more than he already was. "Harry, you and I both know that Professor Dumbledore did not fill us in on every plan he had. How do we know that this was not planned by Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore? Didn't Hagrid say that he heard the two of them arguing about something that Dumbledore wanted Professor Snape to do?" Hermione stopped talking when she saw the cold fury in Harry's eyes.

"I think you should leave, Hermione. Before I say or do something I may regret later on," Harry ground out.

"Harry," she began, only to be cut off by an icy glare. Standing, she sighed as she walked toward the door. It seemed she'd underestimated the anger that he would be feeling. Opening the door, she stood there for a moment. "Just think about what I said, please."

Harry was relieved when he heard the door close. How dare she come in here and try to convince him that Snape was not guilty of killing the one man who had shown him any kindness? Or that Dumbledore had been in on the plan? It was utterly ridiculous. The Headmaster would have told him if there was a plan, wouldn't he? A sliver of doubt crept in.

A knock sounded on the door and Harry sighed, rubbing his head, a sudden headache forming by the arguments that had been presented. "Hermione, go away!" he called out, glancing at the door. There was no answer and his eyes fell on a piece of parchment that had been slid under the door.

"Oh, Merlin," he muttered, as he pushed himself up. What did she have to say now?

Reaching over, he picked up the single folded sheet of parchment, and shuffled back to his seat. He plopped down, throwing his legs over one of the arms. Laying the letter on his stomach, he gazed into the fire, a drowsiness threatening to overtake him. The thought of reading a note from Hermione was exhausting, and Harry wasn't sure that he wanted, or was able, to read it. Perhaps after a short nap, he would be ready to deal with the letter. Just as he was beginning to drift off, his eyes flew open when he heard a loud popping sound coming from the corner of the room. Sitting up, he looked in the direction of the darkened corner, but saw nothing. He stood up and walked around the room, suddenly wary of the stillness. Once he was sure that everything was as it should be, he sat back down, fulling intending to let his anger and rage consume him. His eyes fell to the parchment that had fallen to the floor. Picking it up, he froze. Instead of Hermione's feminine writing, he was confronted with a spidery, flowing scrawl. Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, he looked around the room trying to make some sense of receiving a letter from someone who was supposed to be dead. Looking back down at the familiar handwriting, his eyes filled with tears. He opened the letter, and noticed that his hands were shaking.

He blinked his eyes to clear the sudden tears, so that he could read the words etched on the paper.

My dear boy,

I owe you an apology. I know that you have lost so much in your young life, and believe me when I tell you, that I did not plan to be one that left you as well. However, as difficult as this may be to understand, it was truly better that it happen this way. You are a strong wizard, Harry, but too often I have taken the lead and not allowed you to realize your true potential. I have tried to shield you, to protect you from things you should not have to face at your age, but I finally realized that I was doing you more harm than good. You need to soar or fail on your own. This is your time. I have given you the knowledge you will need and placed individuals around you that will, in the end, support and protect you as best they can. Speaking of such individuals, I know that you are probably very angry with Professor Snape. Please don't be. He was simply following my orders, rather reluctantly. In many ways, you both are very similar and I have cared about you both as if you were my own sons. Professor Snape is needed for the final battle as much as you are. Harry. I could not sacrifice either one of you, so I simply gave what was needed. Be strong, my boy. Remember those who have gone before you and remember what they have sacrificed. Those memories will guide you as you complete the task set before you. Never forget that I am with you, and that I am so proud of you. You have truly become a fine, young wizard, and your parents, rest their souls, would have been delighted with the man that you are becoming. It has been a pleasure to be your teacher on the path that has been chosen for you, Harry. I would not change one moment of it. Take care and good luck!

Affectionately,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry's hands dropped to his lap, the letter slipping from his fingertips and falling to the floor. Hermione had been right. It had been a plan. He glared into the fire, angry with the Headmaster for not trusting him enough to be honest with him. In the end, he was still treated as a child who could not be depended upon. Suddenly, he leaned back against the chair cushion, the anger draining from him as quickly as it had risen. Running a hand through his hair, his mind began making a list of all the people he had lost. His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, and even Cedric Diggory, who had been murdered in front of his eyes. How many more people was Harry expected to let go? His eyes fell to the letter lying on the carpet. Dumbledore had known that he was going to die. He had made a huge sacrifice for Harry and for Snape. Now Harry was expected to possibly make a similar sacrifice. It all seemed too much. He wanted nothing more than to run to the Headmaster's office and have him take care of everything as he normally had. But now, there was no one to take this burden from Harry's shoulders. It was his and his alone. Dumbledore was right. It was his time to soar or fail, and thanks to the Headmaster and the others around him, even Snape, Harry was sure that he would be successful. He had to be, for it was his destiny.