Author's Notes:

Content Warning: Suicidal Thoughts, Depiction of Suicide

The next few chapters won't be written in quite the same way as the Prologue (less humor, more drama), as I want to set up the *gasp* plot before going into wacky shenanigans (I genuinely can't wait to write about 2008, it's a steaming pile of golden shit in the best way possible).

Also, feel free to give any story ideas for whatever Harry and Luna get up to when going about their Dark Lord/Lady business. I'm willing to take just about anything.

So… yeah. Thank you, folks, for reading this story. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1 – A Vial of Ash

May 7th, 1998

Twenty years before the final battle, twenty years before the final coming of Death, stood a lone figure by the edge of the Astronomy Tower.

The air was still, and yet the figure's tattered cloak fluttered as if there was a small gust. The night was warm, and yet the figure felt a chill emanating deep within his spirit.

The lands surrounding the castle were peaceful, and yet the eyes of the man still saw devastation. It was nearly a week ago that the final vestiges of the war were waged, but to him it never ended. One would think that he would feel complete after vanquishing his mortal enemy, and yet he only felt emptier.

He had lost so much and gained very little. He had lost loved ones. He had lost his closest friends. Yet all he had to show for it were the scars he carried.

The scars… and the Hallows.

Were they a Blessing?

Or were they a Curse?

Perhaps neither.

Likely Both.

For when they were brought together, they bestowed upon its user mastery over Death itself.

The Power to bestow Death unto others.

The Wand

The Power to commune with those across the Veil of Death.

The Stone

The Power to hide oneself away from the gaze of Death.

The Cloak

Together, they brought unparalleled power for the one who wields them.

But it also sets upon them a burden.

A specter of thought. Always in the back of their mind.

Calling them…

Please, it says.

Please, use us.

Call upon us to strike down your foes.

Remind the world that Death walks among you.

Remind the world that the only constant in life…

Is that it always ends in Death.

And they called upon the man upon the tower. The Wand of his Destiny calling from the White Tomb. The Stone calling from the Forbidden Forest. The Cloak of his father calling from his shoulders.

Yet he refused their plea. He would not become their pawn.

He knew what it was like to live as a pawn, for he was a pawn in the great game for most of his life.

A pawn of the prophecy.

A pawn of an old man playing chess master.

A pawn of the Wizarding World.

Now, a pawn of the Hallows.

But he refused to bow to them. He refused to be anyone's pawn any longer.

He refused to bow to the words of a crazy old bat of a woman.

He refused to bow to old meddlers looking to correct their past mistakes.

He refused to bow to a public that praised him one moment and scorned him the next.

He refused to bow to the whims of the dark deity.

The man snorted unwittingly. 'Master of Death?', he thought. 'Death can have no Master.'

No, Master of Death he was not. For Death was a beast unchained, feasting as it saw fit, regardless of the wishes of those below.

No, for him it was the reverse. The Hallows made him not the Master of Death but made Death the Master of him.

He was to be Death's pawn.

'Not if I can do anything about it.' He thought darkly.

As he stepped towards the edge of the tower, the Cloak seemed to hum in rising discord, in protest of his actions.

'Good', he thought savagely, 'I won't let myself be your pawn.'

He stood one step away from cascading into the eternal abyss. The hum of the Cloak now screeching in ardent protest. It was a touch ironic, the man mused as he lifted his leg to take the final step, that the only way to escape Death's influence was to embrace it, as if it were an old friend.

'I wonder if Ignotus did this same thing.'

Steeling himself, the man took the plunge and began plummeting the same way the former Headmaster did naught even a year ago. He closed his eyes as he prepared himself to meet the warm embrace of –

"Harry?"

Harry Potter jumped from his stupor and whirled around to see Luna Lovegood standing in the damaged archway of the Astronomy Tower. Her dirty blonde hair still singed at its edges from the battle. She was looking at him with concern, laced with an understanding sadness.

"L-Luna! Hi… I didn't see you there…" Harry replied, not looking into her eyes.

He didn't quite see her face, but he felt rather than saw it set in a frown. "Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry tugged on his face into a false smile, one that has seen numerous years of practice, "I'm fine, Luna."

It was the response he gave to everyone for the past few days. Most people just took it at face value and left him alone. The only people who seemed to see through it were Ron, who usually didn't mention it again and silently supported his friend, Hermione, who would usually persist in finding out the issue until she was pulled back by Ron, and Luna, who seemed capable of seeing through even the most believable lie.

Such was the case here, as Luna minutely shook her head and silently advanced. "No, you're not fine, Harry," she whispered, eyes beginning to sparkle in tears, "you were about to do something very foolish. Why?"

Harry sighed and rubbed his face tiredly – he had gotten no more than ten hours of sleep in the past five days – and met his eyes with Luna's, seeing a faint line of tears running down her cheeks.

"Luna… I… It's just… It's hard, Luna," Harry said hoarsely, feeling faint prickling in his eyes signaling the beginning of his own tears – or rather what tears he had left to shed. But these were not tears of sadness; they were tears of regret, frustration, anger, rage.

"I'm tired, Luna."

His voice came out as a whisper, but it quickly rose into an agonized yell.

"I'm tired of this war."

"I'm tired of having to fix this world's mistakes."

"I'm tired of having to look behind my back everywhere I go."

"I'm tired of being 'The Chosen One.'"

"I'm fucking tired of not having any goddamn choice!"

With that, his legs gave way, and he tumbled forward, away from the ledge. He lay on the floor, broken, another casualty of the war.

It may not have been a physical death, but his spirit had long past lost its light.

Luna came forward and knelt beside Harry, hugging him as his teary eyes stared forward as he relived the past seven years, taking in every moment, every trial, every joy, and every loss. And instead of pushing it to the farthest reaches of his mind like he did in the past, Harry let himself feel it in full.

He sat on the floor for a couple of hours, long enough for the first rays of light from the sun to peak over the horizon. Luna had fallen asleep for nearly an hour by this point, yet she still clung onto Harry as if he would jump.

But Harry no longer felt the despair, the emptiness that threatened to consume him when he stood over the ledge.

Instead, buried deep within years-worth quantities of self-loathing and apathy, he felt a small flicker of determination.

'I won't be anyone's pawn anymore,' Harry promised himself as he hugged Luna back, 'not for Dumbledore, not for the Ministry, not for the public, and not for Death.'

The humming from the cloak seemed to pick up for a moment, as if in challenge, but Harry paid no mind. Shortly afterwards, the humming subdued, and the shadow that the Hallows held over his soul seemed to lighten up, even if it was only to be for a brief moment

~The Black Phoenix~

Even five days after the conclusion of the Battle of Hogwarts, the Great Hall still held multiple family members of the deceased, who mourned for their losses.

While Voldemort's corpse was taken away and burned a day after the battle, the spot in which he died was still left vacant as a sign of… was it respect? Fear? Harry didn't know, nor did he care that much anymore.

In fact, this was the first time that Harry was present in the Great Hall after the day of the battle. Harry's instincts from the past year still flared routinely as he roamed the deserted halls of the castle, seeing bodies and curses that weren't there, hearing screams and roars that were nothing but whispers, smelling the putrid fumes of charred flesh and splattered blood. Everywhere he went, he was reminded of the lives that were mercilessly tossed away in the battle.

The castle reeked of Death

The Great Hall was the worst for Harry; it was why he had avoided it up until now. He saw the fallen lined up in rows, some looking peaceful in oblivion, and others being barely recognizable. In his mind's eye, he could see Lavender Brown's body mauled by Greyback. He could see Colin Creevey, half of his skin a mesh of burnt muscle and bone. He could see Fred and Percy Weasley, surrounded by their family. He could see Remus and Nymphadora Lupin holding hands, as if they were peacefully sleeping.

Now, he sat at the corner of one of the tables, which each had their colors burned off during the battle. Most of the bodies had been taken by loved ones for burial; however, there still lay several placed under a Stasis charm that went unclaimed.

The Great Hall itself was sparsely occupied, as the school year had come to an abrupt close. Aside from Harry, only the remaining staff, a handful of students, and a few parents remained. Most had left the castle to begin rebuilding their lives after the fall of Voldemort. However, a few Death Eaters and their sympathizers, primarily composed of 7th Year Slytherins, had quickly fled Britain for other countries.

Personally, Harry couldn't really understand the rush. The Ministry was still in tatters after Voldemort's reign. Even with Kingsley taking the helm, numerous political factions within the Ministry fought for control. Catching and prosecuting Death Eaters took a backseat to trying to stabilize the government, especially when many within the government were Death Eaters themselves.

Harry clenched his fist at the thought. At first, he thought, a little naively, that with Voldemort gone, his followers would soon fall as well. However, over the course of the week, numerous Death Eaters, snatchers, and their supporters ended up escaping prosecution. Many of them claimed to be under the Imperius Curse, which Harry initially believed wouldn't work like it did in the first war. However, most of them didn't bear the Dark Mark, and as the records of the Death Eaters' crimes over the past year were mysteriously absent, there wasn't any solid evidence that proved their guilt. Additionally, within the Wizengamot, which he learned from Hermione was a wizarding parliament, a considerable number of high-ranking Death Eaters resorted to bribery and back-alley deals with Ministry officials to avoid being imprisoned.

It made Harry sick to think that, as much as things have changed, other things have stayed much the same.

He was interrupted from his brooding when his two best friends sat on either side of him.

"Hi," Ron greeted, placing a considerable amount of food on his plate.

Hermione remained silent as she helped herself to a much smaller portion.

To most, it would seem as if the three were tense. And they were – who wasn't after being on the run for the past year? But they held a silent comradery together as they ate in isolation.

Harry was grateful for their presence, as it helped him out of the funk he was falling into with being in the Great Hall. They both stuck by him all the way to the end. Hermione had been dependable and, as always, brilliant. Ron, despite his previous faults, proved invaluable in the battle, being able to come up with ideas neither Hermione nor Harry could think of.

He only felt like his old self when he was with them. Although Luna was a close contender. For the past few days, he wore a mask around others, consoling them, reminiscing about people he never knew, providing a brave face to the horrors of what happened. It tired him to no end, and he ended up avoiding people as much as he could help it.

The doors to the Great Hall opened, showing a new group of people in Harry's peripheral vision. 'Great', he thought, 'more noise.'

He was broken out of his musing when Hermione nudged his leg, causing him to face the Minister and two Aurors standing on the other side of the table.

"Good morning, Harry," Kingsley said in a deep rumble. "I was wondering if I could speak with you for a quick moment."

Harry eyed him for a moment, a part of him too tired to deal with whatever Ministry nonsense Kingsley wished to speak with him about. He sighed, knowing that it was unwise to snub the new Minister for no good reason, and followed him out of the Great Hall.

When they reached the hallway, Kingsley turned and regarded Harry for a moment before speaking, "I don't believe we've thanked you for what you've done for wizarding Britain, Harry. Allow me to rectify that by giving you the Ministry's heartfelt gratitude."

There was a dull feeling in the back of Harry's mind as Kingsley spoke of the Ministry's thanks.

"You're welcome," Harry responded in a slightly clipped voice. He had learned over the past few days that the best response for these types of conversations were short replies, as to allow the other to get to their point faster.

Kingsley continued, "Yes… I hope you understand why I haven't been able to tell you earlier. Things at the Ministry has been… busy."

Harry nodded, "I understand."

"I'm glad," Kingsley said, even as he looked as somber as he always had, "I wanted to offer you an opportunity to help reestablish order with the new administration."

Harry nodded again, slightly resigned as he expected what Kingsley was going to ask him.

"It has come to my attention that you have aspirations to be an Auror," yup, he's going there, "You were on track to become one after Hogwarts, but due to unfortunate circumstances, you weren't here for your 7th Year."

Harry had a difficult time not being reminded of Scrimgeour when Kingsley continued, "However, due to your contributions to wizarding Britain, I believe I can make an exemption in your case and allow you to join the Auror corps this summer. You will still need to pass the entrance exam, but given your experience over the past year, I highly doubt they will be an issue."

Kingsley paused, and when Harry didn't reply immediately, he sighed, "Honestly, Harry, you working with the Ministry would give the needed boost to our morale that the country needs. The people have just been through a war, and they need a symbol of strength to adhere to. I believe that you would be the perfect fit."

Harry waited a moment before speaking, inwardly scowling over how much this sounded like Scrimgeour's plea in 6th Year, and replied in a carefully modulated tone, "I'm not sure if I want to be an Auror anymore."

Kingsley's face fell slightly, "Really? I had heard from a few people that you were quite adamant about your ambition."

'Would on of those "people" happened to have been Umbridge?'

Harry scowled involuntarily for a second before smoothing his face again, "Like I said, Minister Shacklebolt, I'm not sure."

Kingsley didn't seem very satisfied with the answer, but he backed away knowing that his pitch was done. "Still, if anything changes, don't hesitate to let me know."

Harry inclined his head in acknowledgement, "I will. Is there anything else you need from me?"

Kingsley paused in thought before shaking his head, "No. I will leave you to it." He signaled his Auror guard to leave, leaving Harry behind in the hallway.

Harry remained in the hallway for a few minutes, vaguely wondering to himself why he didn't take the offer. If it was only a year ago, Harry likely would've taken the offer to fix the problems with wizarding society. However, over the past year Harry had time to reflect on wider issues that spawned Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

Even after Voldemort was 'vanquished' in 1981, wizarding Britain ended up reverting back to the status-quo, with corruption spreading even faster than before, allowing Voldemort to operate undetected for a straight year.

Societal discrimination against muggleborns, half-breeds, and even halfbloods was still rampant in the top positions in the Ministry. It truly disturbed Harry to think of how little the Ministry actually changed when Voldemort took control.

The Wizengamot catered to the pureblood agenda. Most of the seats were hereditary and came with special privileges. Many of the Lords who worked for Voldemort escaped justice through their political and economic influence.

Most of all, wizarding Britain feared change. Innovations in most subjects were at a standstill due to laws prohibiting the development of new spells, techniques, potions, etc. In the case when a spell was invented without going through the months', sometimes years', worth of Ministry paperwork, it was legally classified as dark magic.

'To think, that time-telling spell Hermione invented in 6th Year is "dark magic"'

Harry shook his head as he re-entered the Great Hall. He didn't envy Kingsley for his position. Kingsley's efforts to both push for more progressive laws and appease the traditionalist purebloods was a fool's game in Harry's opinion. Getting himself involved as an Auror would only behold him to the Ministry's wishes, which would only end up exacerbating the problem rather than fix it.

He wasn't going to behold himself to a bigoted Ministry doomed to fail.

He wasn't going to be their pawn.

When Harry slumped back down onto the seat next to Ron, Hermione asked, "What did the Minister want?"

"He asked if I wanted to be an Auror," Harry took a sip of pumpkin juice, "I told him I'm not sure."

Hermione furrowed her brow a bit, "He does realize none of us have actually been through 7th Year, right?"

"Yeah, but he said that 'due to my contributions to wizarding Britain', he could make an exemption for me."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, "Really?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, disgust evident in his tone, "He said that it would help with boosting the Ministry's morale."

Ron, who was lounging after a healthy portion of eggs and bacon, perked up, "Isn't that what Scrimgeour wanted back in 6th Year?"

"Exactly!" Harry exclaimed, causing Ron to frown and Hermione to sigh. A little bit mollified by his exclamation, Harry ran his hand through his hair and continued softly, "Sorry, it's just – it's frustrating for me to see that's nothing really changed."

Ron grunted in agreement. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment before speaking, "We know, Harry. We know." She then adopted the 'however' look before she stopped and shook her head, continuing, "A part of me wants to tell you of all the good you could do in that position," she put up a hand when Harry was about to interrupt, "But I understand that you would be miserable having to fight against them constantly. I want you to be happy, Harry, and for whatever it entails, I'll support you."

Ron nodded and looked to Harry, "I may not be as eloquent as Hermione, but I'll always have your back, mate."

Harry couldn't help but smile widely at his best friends. Harry thought that he would probably be lost in life without them.

"Thanks, guys… it really means a lot to me." Harry said, grinning.

Ron and Hermione returned his smile. They sat in the Great Hall for another half an hour before leaving. As Ron and Hermione began heading back to Gryffindor tower, Harry slipped on his invisibility cloak and stepped into a secret passage.

He felt slightly bad at abandoning Ron and Hermione for a bit. Hermione would probably begin freaking out, relying on a year's worth of instinct of fighting, and Ron would probably calm her down, telling her that Harry had to do something on his own before rejoining them. Harry was glad that Ron understood why he did this for the past few days. They would be leaving Hogwarts come tomorrow, and Harry wasn't sure if or when he would get another opportunity to speak with the deceased headmaster again.

As Harry rounded the corner leading to the headmaster's office, he spotted McGonagall standing at the entrance waiting for him. He removed the cloak and revealed himself to her.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," her usual prim greeting underlined with a level of warmth and sadness that followed her the past few days, "Albus said you would be coming here."

"Yeah," Harry replied, "I wanted to speak with him one last time before I go."

McGonagall said, "You know, Mr. Potter, that Hogwarts will always welcome you into its halls."

Harry smiled, "I know, I just think that some time away would do me some good."

McGonagall gave a somber nod, "I understand," she waved at the entrance, causing the gargoyle to shift revealing a set of stairs, "Just know that we will be here for you if you need it."

"Thank you," Harry said, ascending the stairs to say goodbye to the former headmaster one final time.

~The Black Phoenix~

The headmaster's office remained unchanged since the battle. There were many differences to it than how it was during Dumbledore's tenure. All of the odd gizmos and gadgets were replaced with potion equipment and experiments courtesy of Snape, whose portrait was added on the wall a mere day ago.

That was a fun revelation when Harry walked in yesterday.

Speaking of which, the portraits all turned to the entrance when Harry walked in. They all kept quiet as he approached them, knowing from the past few days not to talk over Harry and the late Dumbledore. Even Snape acquiesced, albeit with a look of unadulterated loathing, after a non-verbal Silencio, and a verbal "Shut up."

Finally, Harry stepped up to the portrait of the old man who had once been Harry's role model, his mentor, and, daresay, his friend.

Dumbledore sat in peace within his portrait, his eyes twinkling both with the same intelligence that plagued him and with unformed tears of this being their final meeting for a long time.

"Dumbledore," Harry greeted, slightly coldly.

Dumbledore's smile grew slightly watery, "Hello Harry, how are you this fine morning?"

"I'm fine, Dumbledore. I look forward to leaving."

Dumbledore's eyes grew sad at that proclamation, "Yes, I imagine you would. It truly saddens me that you had to go through so many ordeals."

Harry inclined his head, whether out of thanks or simple acknowledgement to the words were unknown, "I haven't come here to talk about that, Dumbledore. I think we're both past that point.

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed, with tears beginning to form in his eyes, "I can never beg for enough forgiveness for what I have done. I can only be thankful that you have turned out a far better man than I."

Harry nodded minutely, remembering the lengthy talks that they had had over the past few days. Harry learned of how, despite his good intentions, Dumbledore made many mistakes over the course of Harry's life. Harry's upbringing, for one, was never meant to be in an abusive household, and it truly enraged Dumbledore how the Dursley's treated him, and it shamed him to no end how it took him until 6th Year to fully recognize what was going on and to do something about it.

Dumbledore's handling of the prophecy and Harry's fate of defeating Voldemort was another regret of the former headmaster. He had wished that Harry could grow up with a normal childhood without the burden of the prophecy hanging over him. Dumbledore believed that prophecy was a fickle thing, which was one of the few things that Harry wholeheartedly agreed with, but he knew that Voldemort would act upon it without regard for its repercussions. However, Dumbledore's silence during 5th Year kept Harry ignorant, which indirectly led to Sirius' death, which he knew hung over Harry's head like a death knell.

Finally, the horcrux in Harry's scar was another regret of Dumbledore's. He had his first suspicions by the end of 2nd Year, and all but confirmed them in 5th Year when Harry's mind began getting linked with Voldemort's. Dumbledore spent many sleepless nights researching many ancient tomes across Europe and even some from Asia and Africa. However, for all his research, there was never a documented case of a living horcrux surviving after death. It was only until late in Harry's 6th Year that Dumbledore theorized a potential way for cursed scar to be destroyed and for Harry to survive.

His theory was that Lily's protection could work in tandem with the self-serving properties of a horcrux to create a contradiction in intent. Horcruxi were inherently selfish, hateful, and parasitic. Lily's protection was inherently selfless, loving, and symbiotic. Dumbledore reasoned that the properties of Lily's protection could counteract the mortal damage done by the destruction of the horcrux by sacrificing the protection itself forever. However, this was only possible if Voldemort himself was the one to destroy the horcrux, as he too held Lily's protection in his blood, thus his soul, through the killing curse, needed to be directly connected to Harry's for him to live. Only then could Harry survive the killing curse a second time, this time with both the horcrux and Lily's protection removed permanently.

Dumbledore knew it was a hopelessly convoluted scheme for both Voldemort to die and for Harry to live, but he did everything in his power to ensure that this would happen. He fully admitted to Harry that he had refrained from telling Harry about his horcrux until it would be the final one left.

In all of these ways, Harry felt as though his life had been influenced by Dumbledore. He felt as though he was but a pawn in a larger game. And while speaking with Dumbledore and learning that his intentions were good lessened that feeling, it didn't entirely go away. While he no longer felt the ill-will he had felt for the previous three years, it would be a long time until he forgave the late headmaster.

But he would never forget.

"As I've said already, Dumbledore, I don't know if I can ever forgive you… I can understand why you did it. But… I wanted to ask you for advice," Harry replied.

He felt a little bitter about going to Dumbledore for advice, but even he had to admit that the man had over a century worth of wisdom to draw upon.

Dumbledore himself stroked his beard in thought, "What do you need advice in, Harry?"

Harry sighed deeply and crossed his arms while looking out of the window, "I'm feeling… lost. I've spent most of my life fighting against Voldemort and now that he's gone, I don't know what to do."

"Hmmm," Dumbledore hummed to himself, "I imagine that you have been pursued by Kingsley for a job at the Ministry. Perhaps even a few international fellows have asked for your services as well."

Harry scowled; he had heard Ron and Hermione tell him about more than a few foreign diplomats asking for his presence, which he staunchly refused, "A few foreigners, yes, and Kingsley approached me about becoming an Auror."

Dumbledore nodded serenely, "And what did you say?"

"That I wasn't sure."

Dumbledore nodded again with a slight smile on his face, "Harry, what you're describing to me is oddly resembling of how it was for me following my victory over Gellert. People all across the world began to see me as the answer to their problems. I was practically gifted the positions of Supreme Mugwump in the ICW and Chief Warlock in the Ministry. I had to actively fight their efforts to make me Minister of Magic. I wouldn't be surprised if they did the same to you once you grow up for a few more years."

Harry shuddered, "No way in hell am I becoming Minister of Magic."

Dumbledore chuckled, "Yes, yes. I imagine such a thing would be nightmarish to you."

Harry frowned before asking, "How did you deal with it?"

Dumbledore gave his widest smile yet, "I devoted myself to doing what I loved: teaching. I taught transfiguration for a number of years until Dippet passed away. At that point, I took the reigns of headmaster, although I still did a number of seminars in transfiguration and defense," Dumbledore replied with a reminiscent look. "What is it that you want to do, Harry? Now that Voldemort is gone."

Harry continued looking out the window, "I… I don't know what I want to do."

Dumbledore nodded sadly, seemingly expecting that answer, "A word of advice, then? Explore the world. Experience the cultures out there. Cooping yourself up in Britain will not do yourself any favors while they hound you relentlessly."

Harry thought about it for a moment, intrigued, "What about my friends? My family? I'm a godfather now. Shouldn't I be there for Teddy?"

"Young Lupin has his grandmother to care for him, yes?" at Harry's nod, Dumbledore continued, "You can visit them at any time, Harry, and you will not be abroad forever. This is an opportunity for you to discover yourself."

Harry thought it over for a few moments before reluctantly nodding, "Okay… I'll think on it. Thank you." He sighed, looking over the room one final time before taking his leave, "I suppose this is goodbye, Dumbledore." He turned to leave the office when Dumbledore's voice rang out.

"Before you leave, I have a few possessions to gift to you."

Harry turned around with a wary look, "This is not going to be anything like that damned ring, is it?"

Dumbledore gave a self-deprecating smile, "No, Harry. In truth, a part of me had hoped that you would've never figured out how to use to stone."

But it did happen, and the consequences aren't pretty

"Please look behind the pensieve in the corner. There, you'll find a small compartment with my last possessions."

Harry was admittedly intrigued. While a part of Harry wondered whether Dumbledore's last possessions would merely be wooly socks, there was a note of seriousness in the late headmaster's voice that told him that this was no joke.

Looking behind the pensieve, he saw a small cabinet marked with a phoenix emblem. Opening it, he found a small number of old tomes, a few notebooks, an artifact of some sort, and a vial of ash.

"That compartment contains a few of the most useful tomes I have encountered in my travels. They contain some very dangerous and intricate spells that I would normally never give to another. But for you, Harry, I believe that you can use them for good," Dumbledore said from across the room.

Harry placed the tomes in his expanded satchel, his mouth going dry at the value of what he was being given.

"That ancient artifact there was a gift to me from a rather gifted druid in the Americas. He told me that it helped him commune with the spirits. While I never found any particular use in it, I believe that given your rather unique experience, it may be more beneficial to you than it was for me."

Harry pocketed the artifact, a small wooden figurine of some sort of deity. He felt a flash of loathing for the headmaster's reference to his experience in the forest, before clamping it down as Dumbledore addressed the rest of the cabinet's contents.

"In that vial, Harry, is the final source of phoenix ash from Fawkes. I had always wished that one day we could perform the ritual to bond yourself to a phoenix of your own, and while I may no longer be present for it, I have provided all of the steps required to perform such a ritual in my notes for you."

Harry was floored by this, holding the vial of ash much more reverently. While he had been forged by war, killing his childhood innocence at an early age, there was still a childlike wistfulness of the thought of having your own phoenix.

"Th-Thank you, Dumbledore," Harry whispered, in awe of his final gifts, "Thank you."

Dumbledore beamed, tears beginning to run down his cheeks, "No. Thank you, Harry Potter. Even though I have made many mistakes in my relationship with you, I will always be proud of you. I believe that you will become a truly great wizard, no matter the path you choose to take."

Harry looked at the portrait one final time, tears beginning to brim in his eyes as well, "Thank you, Dumbledore."

With that, he left the office. He still wasn't sure if he had forgiven the late headmaster. But if he hadn't, this was a pretty big step in that direction.

He eyed the vial in his hands with a small grin. The past few days had been some of the worst in Harry's life. With the Battle of Hogwarts. With the staggering number of deaths. With the torment of the Hallows. With the revelation of Dumbledore's schemes. With him nearly ending it on the Astronomy Tower.

He had started the day at the lowest point he had been in his life. Now, though, things were starting to look a little better.

AN

A few things:

That bit in the first scene of the imagined suicide just… kinda happened. It wasn't planned, but my writing ended up flowing in that direction, and I decided not to remove it. Harry's suicidal thoughts will be addressed later on in the story. Sorry if it was unexpected due to the cheerier attitude in the Prologue. It was a surprise for me too!

Percy is dead. For some reason I had it in my mind for him to be dead, and while writing it I was like 'wait a minute, did he actually die?' So I looked it up, and it turns out he actually didn't. I still kept it, though. I don't really have a place in the story for him, and it also acts as another emotional blow to the Weasley family.

Also, I tend to avoid Ron/Hermione/Dumbledore bashing in my works. Each of them has flaws, but so does Harry. However, in the case of Ron and Hermione, their flaws were highly tempered out by the end of the 7th Book. In Dumbledore's case, my interpretation is that he was aware of Harry's horcrux by the end of 2nd Year and worked tirelessly to find a way to remove it without killing him. There are no goblin rituals, surgery, or known rituals that are capable of removing a horcrux from a living being without killing it. The Dumbledore in this story was only able to find one theoretical possibility of the horcrux getting removed by Voldemort's own curse, which even then was only a chance. Thankfully, it worked (which may also be, in part, due to the whole Master of Death business). Basically, my version of Dumbledore was someone haunted by Ariana and who refused taking political power for himself (in canon, the powers of Chief Warlock were relatively minor compared to the likes of the Minister, which he constantly refused). He was dealt a bad hand in the form of the prophecy surrounding Harry and Voldemort and played it to the best of his ability. He has flaws. He made mistakes. He's said himself that he is not perfect, and that given his position, his mistakes tend to be grander in scale. I can understand if someone may not particularly like Dumbledore, but I vehemently disagree with Manipulative or GreaterGood!Dumbledore being true to his character. Okay, speech done.

By the way, there will be a few chapters leading up to the moment that Harry actually becomes the Black Phoenix. His first public action isn't until roughly two years later in the story, but he will assume the role before then. Wacky hijinks will resume shortly after he starts setting fire to people's homes.