As much as Harry was enjoying his time at the Burrow, he was more excited to return to Hogwarts. He had been dreading leaving it, for Hogwarts was his home, and the first place Harry had ever felt truly accepted. He knew he would have to leave eventually, but the chance to go back, with nothing hanging over his head, and finish his schooling gave him a warm, comforting feeling.
Harry's days passed so quickly and carefree, he was surprised to wake up one morning to find that it was his birthday. He had barely thought of it over the past week, yet here it was today. As Harry ambled off the stairs and into the kitchen, he stopped dead in the entrance, his jaw hanging open.
There was a pile of presents crowding the kitchen; the table was completely covered with them, stacked several feet high, and several had overflowed onto the floor, where George and Percy were shaking them, George with an anticipatory grin on his face. It was the first time Harry had seen George smile since the memorial, and Harry's heart warmed at the sight.
Ron, who was slower getting up than Harry, came off the stairs, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He walked straight into Harry, still frozen in the entrance to the kitchen. "Oi! What gives?" Ron asked angrily. Harry stepped aside wordlessly and pointed at the immense pile of presents on the table, which Harry was sure was larger than any Dudley had ever received.
Ron stood, staring for a moment, then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he toppled backward, landing with a large crash on the floor of the Burrow.
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After they had managed to revive Ron from his fainting spell (He insisted that he had been feeling ill for days), Harry set to opening his presents. There was an elegant green traveling cloak from Mrs. Weasley, which Harry secretly thought looked quite majestic; a gift certificate to Quality Quidditch Supplies from Ron ("You'll be needing a new broom for the season mate."); a box of prototype products from George; and a new bag for his schoolbooks from Hermione, seeing as his old one was getting rather small. The rest of the presents comprised of candy, spellbooks, sneakoscopes, gold, and other small items from Harry's admirers. Aside from one package that blew up as Percy was curiously examining it, all of Harry's presents were great, although he had gotten many duplicate items.
When at last Harry had finished opening all of his presents, thanking each person in turn, only one large, black and white Eagle Owl remained. "All right, where's your package?" Harry asked, in a slightly tired voice. The owl merely turned it's head quizzically at him, and hesitantly held out one of it's talons, on which the was attached a small note. Harry unfolded it curiously, and read it to himself.
Dear Harry,
I couldn't think of what to getcha, so I figgered you can't go wrong by a new owl. I bought ya your first one, remember? Anyway, his name's "Acrol", and I reckon that's all he'll answer to now.
Happy birthday Harry!
Hagrid
The idea of replacing Hedwig weighed heavy on Harry's heart, and he remembered with a twist in his gut, as the sidecar exploded into the night, him and Hagrid speeding away on the bike. It had been a year ago, but Harry wasn't sure if he was ready for a new owl. Hedwig had been a great friend to him, a symbol of comfort within the pallid and horrible Number Four Privet Drive; a reminder that he belonged, not to this world, but to another, far more fantastic place.
"I suppose it's a necessity," Harry thought to himself, handing the note to Hermione on his left, and holding out his wrist for Acrol, who hopped on obligingly, his talons digging slightly into Harry's skin. After all, it would be hard to answer any of his mail without an owl.
"Thanks everyone," Harry said, beaming at everyone in the room. "They're all great gifts."
They all returned the courtesy, and Hermione sent all his presents neatly soaring up the stairs and into Ron's room, where Harry had a suspicion he would find them alphabetized, neatly stacked, and probably even organized according to category. A little grin tugged at the corners of Harry's mouth, because he knew Hermione was both sufficiently skilled and obsessive enough to actually perform that feat.
"Thanks Hermione," Harry said with a wave of acknowledgement towards his friend.
Harry spent the rest of the day sorting through his presents with Ron and George, whom were fighting over anything Harry did not want or had gotten multiples of. Hermione was curled up on Ron's bed, reading a copy of Total Transfiguration: Advanced Techniques that covered their coursework for the upcoming year. She managed to acquire an old sneakoscope from Harry's birthday pile, and was waving her wand in a complex three-dimensional patterns above it, transfiguring it into different forms under the books careful instruction. She managed to return it to it's original state before Harry's birthday dinner, but he noticed that instead of the usual high-pitched whine, it now made a noise that sounded very much like the trumpet of an elephant whenever something untrustworthy happened.
Harry jammed it at the bottom of his trunk, hoping that the layers of clothes and spellbooks would insulate it's sound, and rushed downstairs for his birthday dinner, which was delicious as usual. Harry was grateful that there were no interruptions this year, painfully remembering his last two birthday parties, disrupted by bad news and the Minister of Magic.
It was an enjoyable evening, greatly enhanced by the quality of Mrs. Weasley's cooking, which was even more excellent than usual. A few old members of the Order of the Phoenix dropped by to give their regards, but none stayed long. After dinner, they all enjoyed cake, enchanted so that the miniature Quidditch players zoomed around on the surface, passing the quaffle to one another in their attempts to defeat he opposing keeper.
They all ate quickly, and after he had finished his cake, Harry excused himself from Mrs. Weasleys chaotic attempts at clean up. "I'm going to go take a walk," he called over the din of scraping plates, chairs, and Mrs. Weasley yelling at Ron to stop belching like that because it was disgusting. Harry silently made his escape from the kitchen, striding through the hallway and pushing open the front door without a sound.
The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon, sprinkling its orange-red glow across the serene landscape. The light fell across the yard, casting it in a warm, ethereal light.
The Burrow's back yard was a beautiful thing, although Mrs. Weasley's best efforts couldn't keep weeds from creeping up in the rose garden, or miniature mischievous gnomes from nesting in the shrub bushes. A few rouge chickens wandered the yard, pecking at worms on the ground, or letting out irreverent squawks now and then, but they only added to the charm. Without thinking about his destination, Harry strolled over to the small frog pond near the fence, and sat down on the bench.
A small, dark green frog was sitting on a lily pad in the middle of the pond, staring up at Harry with its big glassy eyes. For a moment, Harry imagined the eyes flitted up to his forehead, lingering on his scar, as so often had happened over the past seven years. It seemed the one, inescapable fact about him, and the one everyone gravitated to: He was Harry Potter, the boy with the lightning-bolt scar. That was all anyone ever saw the first time he had appeared in Hogwarts, and he was sure it would be the same when he returned for the last time.
He found himself inexplicably drawn back to his memories of Gilderoy Lockhart, his pompous, self-obsessed, fraud of a teacher from his second year at Hogwarts. "Fame's a fickle friend Harry, remember that," Lockhart had told Harry once. Whatever else could be said about Lockhart, Harry found himself respecting the man for his knowledge of life in the spotlight: something Harry had never truly comprehended.
Not that the man's fame had done him anything in the end, as he now was a permanent resident of St. Mungo's long-term spell damage ward, without a memory, due in part to Harry and Ron. The defense job at Hogwarts had never been kept for more than one year as long as Harry was at school, due to Voldemort, but the more Harry thought about it, the curse certainly extended beyond how long a person could hold their job. Harry listed them off in his mind: Quirrel was dead at Harry's own hands. Lockhart had no memory. Lupin had died dueling Dolohov at the battle of Hogwarts. Mad-Eye and his imposter: Dead and soulless, respectively. Umbridge was imprisoned in Azkaban for crimes against muggle-borns. Snape was dead, and although Harry knew it had been for him that the man had died, he could not bring himself to feel grief for the person who had made his life hell for the past seven years. Carrows was dead, killed by one of his own students at the battle of Hogwarts.
His mind absorbed in the bloody history of his Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers; Harry did not hear the back door of the Burrow open, nor the soft footfalls of Ginny Weasley as she approached the bench where he sat. In fact, he did not notice her presence until she placed her small hand upon his shoulder.
Harry recognized the touch at once, and yielded the left side of the bench to the young witch. She grasped his hand as she sat down, saying nothing, serenely gazing at the small pod in front of them. The silence was perfectly comfortable, and they sat there for some time, hands clasped, both entwined in their own thoughts.
"Ginny?" asked Harry after a time.
She opened her eyes reluctantly, still dwelling upon her last thought. "Yeah?" she spoke with some trepidation.
"I know- I know these last couple weeks have been hard for you," Harry began, carefully skating over mention of Fred. "But I never told you what happened that night, and I think you deserve to know." Harry gulped, as if preparing to dive into very cold water. "The night Voldemort died, after we came out of the Room of Requirement- right after we kicked you out- we needed to find Voldemort." Harry was steadily increasing his pressure on Ginny's hand as he spoke, but she was hanging on his every word, and did not notice.
"He was in the Shrieking Shack, so me, Ron, and Hermione set out there, through the secret passage at the base of the Whomping Willow." Harry was sure Ginny knew of this secret, so he did not stop and explain. "We reached it quickly enough, but we were hidden under my Invisibility Cloak. Voldemort and Snape were there." Ginny gave a little noise of understanding, as if she guessed what came next. "Voldemort was talking to Snape about his wand, and how it wouldn't work properly. I think Snape knew what was coming, because he kept trying to go join the battle, but Voldemort wouldn't let him. The way Voldemort figured it, his wand wouldn't work right because Snape had killed Dumbledore, whom the wand had belonged to before." Harry shook his head. "He was wrong, but that didn't stop him. Voldemort told his snake to kill Snape- you saw the snake," he said, for Ginny had witnessed firsthand Nagini's demise at Neville's hands. Harry continued, "So the snake attacked Snape; it bit him on the neck, and blood was pouring everywhere. Voldemort said 'I regret it.' (Although I know he didn't) and left he shack." Harry glanced sideways at Ginny, who was looking aghast at the morbid tale.
"Snape was dying, his blood running down him in rivulets, pooling on the floor. I couldn't just leave him. I left the passage, and he saw me. He knew he was done for, but with his last bit of strength, he gave me some of his memories." Harry reached into the moleskin pouch on his neck, and pulled out a silver phial, which he handed over to Ginny, who turned it over in her hands, regarding it with reverence. "I guess that was about all he could manage, because right after that..."
"Well, he was dead." Harry concluded grimly. "So we hurried back to Hogwarts. He had pulled his forces back, and you defenders were regrouping." Harry remembered with painful clarity, George kneeling over Fred's head, the rest of the Weasley's gathered around him, grieving. "I ran up to Dumbledore's office- he has a Pensieve." Ginny looked confused at this latest sentence, no doubt she had never heard of a Pensieve. "That's a stone basin that you can view memories in." he clarified, and Ginny looked satisfied.
"Well, Snape left me an awful lot to look at, but in the end, his memories showed a discussion he and Dumbledore had once. Dumbledore knew he was going to die see, because of his hand, remember?" Harrry asked Ginny, and she nodded, clearly recollecting the injury Dumbledore had sustained the year before he had died. "He told Snape that Snape would have to kill him," Ginny gasped at this detail, but Harry forged on, "And that it would fall to Snape to protect the students when he was gone."
"But he didn't really do that!" exclaimed Ginny, outraged. "He ruled over the school with an iron fist. You weren't there! You don't know how awful he was! He even let the Carrows brutally torture his students!" Ginny abruptly stood up, indignant.
"Yes, he did," Harry said calmly, grabbing the crook of Ginny's arm, and pulling her back down to her seat with a gentle caress. "He was a bitter, spiteful man, and I have no doubt that he had few qualms about the way he did business. However, no one died at Hogwarts while he was headmaster, so, in a way, he succeeded in the mission Dumbledore set him. Not perhaps, as Dumbledore would have wished he do it, but the only way, I think, he knew how."
Ginny looked like she was about to argue, but perhaps she sensed that Harry had something graver to say, and she did not speak. "However, there came one more memory after that, er importance. You see, Dumbledore gave Snape a message for me." Ginny made another involuntary noise here, but Harry continued. "He told Snape to tell me that the night my parents died, the night he lost his body, a piece of Voldemort's unstable soul broke off of him, and latched on to me. That's why I can speak Parseltounge. In order for Voldemort to be truly defeated, I had to die, taking Voldemort's soul with me." Harry stopped for a moment to collect himself. Even now, it was hard to consider the thought that Dumbledore had done that to him.
"I emerged from his memories like a man in a daze. I grabbed my cloak, and the wand I had been using, and strode from the room, numb on the inside. My brain could not comprehend why he would do it to me, but still, I kept walking. I traveled under my Cloak, out through the Great Hall, shielded from questioning eyes, until I reached the Forbidden Forest. My enemy and his servants were there, clustered in a clearing, waiting. I removed my cloak, and threw myself upon my enemy's curse. I thought of you for my last moment, and then all was gone."
"I strayed out of place and time, and I wandered far down the path of acceptance. I was sent back, though how, I still don't know." Harry closed his eyes. "I don't understand it at all." Harry finished on that melancholy note, for Ginny knew what happened after that.
"So… you still have to die?" Ginny asked hesitantly. "For Voldemort to be finished?" A single tear ran down her pale cheek; Harry reached over and wiped it off tenderly.
"No. The part of him inside me died when he cast his curse." Harry's hand moved down to Ginny's chin, and he turned her face so he was staring right into her eyes. "We're free of him forever this time."
Harry reached his arm around Ginny's shoulder and pulled her closer to him. "I know the last couple weeks have been a nightmare for you, Ginny, but I want you to know that I'm here for you. And when you feel you're ready, I'll be waiting."
At his kind words Ginny pushed her body closer to his, pressing up against him and resting her small head on his shoulder.
"Thanks Harry," she murmured quietly, as they sat together, two silhouettes, hands clasped, looking quietly out towards the beautiful red sunset.
A/N: Bonus points if you tell me what this line is paying tribute to:
"I strayed out of place and time, and I wandered far down the path of acceptance. I was sent back, though how, I still don't know."