Chapter 33
Only One More to Go
Harry took another bite of pizza as Professor Dumbledore sipped on his favorite Cabernet. A half-full glass sat in front of Harry as well, though he still had not developed a taste for red wine. Studiously they had avoided discussing the events planned for the evening, instead discussing extremely advanced magic. When he first arrived in the morning, Harry could not think of what to ask the great wizard, but once they started, one topic led to another. They discussed advanced transfigurations, conjuring, how the wards at Hogwarts functioned, and other magic that did not neatly fit into any category. While chewing his food, Harry managed to ask another question.
"How do you move all the tables of the Great Hall just by clapping your hands? I've seen you do that many times, and you aren't even touching your wand."
Dumbledore wiped his mouth with a napkin and smiled, "Actually I am sure you are capable of wide-scale magic, Harry. It does require a great deal of magical power, but if you have it, such magic is not especially difficult. I'll show you once we've finished our meal."
A few minutes later, Harry helped the frail man stand, and they moved between the small kitchen and living room of the flat.
"Now Harry, when we use a wand, our magic is directed to a narrow area, and it is almost impossible to perform a spell which can affect all of the contents of a room. However, magic can also be channeled through a clap of the hands, and will affect a wide area. Of course, the usefulness of such wide-scale magic is limited, as even for a powerful wizard it is impossible to direct sufficient power at a single object to perform a charm or spell on it. But it is extremely useful when the need is to rearrange a general area."
Harry understood well enough, and somewhere or other he recalled having read about wide-scale magic, though he knew it did not constitute a part of the Hogwarts curriculum.
"Look at the furniture in this room, Harry. Now form an image in your mind of how you wish to rearrange it. Make it easy at first. Simply place all of the furniture on the opposite walls. Do you have that image in your mind? Good. Now the key is to focus that image as a spell - a photographic spell rather than a verbal spell. It may take you a few tries, but once you get the hang of it, you will find it to be rather simple. Unfortunately in my current condition, I am not able to provide you with a demonstration."
"Sounds easy enough," Harry remarked, and in fact compared to some of the other magic they had performed that morning and early afternoon, this seemed almost mundane. He stepped forward and after letting the image set in his mind, he clapped his hand. The sofa slid diagonally to the middle of the room, the glass coffee table smashed into bits against the opposite wall, books and knickknacks fell from the television cabinet, and in general he created a mess. Dumbledore laughed at the sight, and after a brief moment of disappointment, Harry chuckled as well.
"Let me try that again," Harry requested after repairing the broken glass with his wand. With the next clap, the furniture zoomed right back to where it had been originally. Three more claps, three different furniture arrangements, without a knickknack out of place. The mentor gazed proudly on his protege.
And so they spent a few more hours, at first in good humor, but as evening approached, the mood gradually darkened. Harry ran out of questions, and the laughter which had echoed freely in the morning ceased. An invisible dense fog filled the room.
"I think the time has come, Harry."
The young man desperately wanted to disagree, to think of some reason for further delay, but he remained mute. Dumbledore struggled to rise from his chair, and Harry rushed over to support his elbow, and then assisted him to the bedroom, where the frail wizard laboriously removed his everyday black robe and, with Harry's help, donned the same exquisite robe that he wore the previous day. The silver-blue garment, made of Chinese silk, was the nicest article of clothing Harry had ever seen. Dumbledore had decided that he would exit this world in his Sunday finest.
Not a word had been exchanged during this process, and the weight in Harry's stomach grew heavier.
"Where do you want to do it, sir?" he asked quietly, breaking the silence.
"Harry, could I ask you a favor?" The boy nodded. "For months I have been alone here, and I have not heard anyone call me by my name, Albus. It may seem a trifle, but I have missed not hearing my name. In these final minutes, could you please use my given name."
The boy almost broke down on the spot, but he took a deep breath.
"I would be honored to . . . Albus." Albus smiled.
"To answer your question, I think I would like to sit on my chair in the living room. I have become quite fond of it these past months." Slowly, Harry assisted Albus to his destination. The Hogwarts medal lay on the kitchen table, and Harry grabbed it, feeling the numbing aura. The temptation surged inside of him to throw the medal over his neck right then and there, before Dumbledore could do anything about it, but the protege could not deprive his mentor of his last wish.
To a young man of Harry's age, it is beyond understanding how an elderly person can face death in perfect peace. Death becomes an escape, a welcomed friend, not an unwanted stranger in the night. Harry knew from the old man's good humor throughout the day, that no fear existed in Albus Dumbledore's heart. He looked forward to one last adventure on this earth, before beginning his first adventure in the next.
"A few words of instruction, Harry," Albus calmly explained after he made himself comfortable in the leather chair, "I have left an envelope on the cabinet by the television. Please deliver it to my landlord on the first floor. It contains my final rent and notice that the apartment will now be vacant. I have few possessions here; please dispose of them for me as you see fit. I have also performed the spell to transfer ownership of Winky to you. After she binds herself to you, she will be your slave. She has served me loyally and become dear to me. I know that you will treat her well, and at the appropriate time, you may free her or deal with her as you deem best." Harry merely nodded at the tying of loose ends.
"Please bury my body somewhere, wherever you deem it appropriate. Do not mark my grave, for I already have one at Hogwarts. No man needs more than one." Again, Harry could manage nothing more than a nod.
The two friends gazed at each other in silence. More than friends; they were master and apprentice, and in a few moments the apprentice would become the master. Finally the old man in his elegant robe held out his hand, and Harry reluctantly placed the horcrux into it.
"I believe that I have said all there is to say, Harry. Read my letter to you again, when you return to your home. It still reflects my feelings."
"Sir. Albus, I just wanted to thank you . . ." Harry's choked throat prevented any further words. He could not believe that soon he would witness the greatest wizard, indeed the greatest person that he had ever known die right before his eyes. And he would do nothing to stop it.
"I know, Harry. You need not speak. This is a much more difficult moment for you than for me. Leaving is always easier than being left behind. My time has come and gone, and there is little more that I can do for you. You have forgiven me for my mistakes, and for that I must thank you. I have said it before; I have learned more from you, Harry Potter, than from all the books in my library. Your burden is great, but your will is greater. I leave this world satisfied, confident in your ultimate victory. Our world will slowly recover until the next dark lord rises, as most surely will come to pass. But that will not be your battle."
Albus opened the silver chain with his hands, preparing to slip it over his head and around his neck.
"I will battle to the best of my ability. There is still some fight left in this old man. As soon as I am gone, put the medal around your neck and finish it off. May our love for each other serve to destroy it once and for all."
"Yes, sir," Harry could barely utter, "I understand . . . Albus."
Albus Dumbledore smiled one last smile and calmly lowered Tom Riddle's Hogwarts medal over his head and around his neck, but keeping the medal itself a few inches away from his chest. The smile left his face, replaced with an expression of determination, a formidable man even in his frailty. Harry wanted to shout "Stop," but he stood frozen in the middle of the living room of the small flat, watching helplessly as Albus carefully pressed the medal against his chest.
He closed his eyes and sunk back into the leather chair. Harry stopped breathing, expecting the professor to suffer immediate and terrible pain, as with the locket, but Dumbledore merely tensed slightly and seemed to enter a state of semi-consciousness.
After ten minutes of staring at the headmaster, Harry gradually emerged from his stupor. Dumbledore clearly had engaged the enemy, his face twitched and grimaced from time to time, but he did not appear to be in extreme pain. Harry sat on the sofa for a minute, but he could not sit still, and he began to pace the small flat, drinking a glass of water, and checking on the professor every few seconds. Maybe the old man would not die, he tried to convince himself; maybe he remained stronger than he thought; maybe this horcrux did not have the strength of the others.
In his heart, he knew better. The end had arrived. He would never be able to speak with Professor Albus Dumbledore again. A chapter in his life was ending, and he knew that this event held special importance. The mantle of responsibility had truly been handed over now. The old man would no longer be around to bail the teen out of tight spots. Of course, Harry thought this to be the case back in July, but so much had passed in the six months since Dumbledore's first death. He felt more prepared now; the burden no longer overwhelmed him. Tonight they would destroy the final horcrux. The final encounter would have to be arranged, but Harry would fight a mortal.
A groan of pain roused Harry from his musings, and immediately he rushed to the professor's side. The battle between the headmaster and the horcrux had entered its final phase. A louder groan followed, and Harry required all of his strength to restrain himself from ripping the medal out of Dumbledore's hand. The frail wizard's body convulsed, and the grimace on his face betrayed his pain. Sweat began to pour from Albus' forehead, trickling into his goatee. Harry knelt down next to the chair, his face only inches away from Dumbledore's. Rage surged through the young wizard. Tom Riddle had to die; this horcrux had to be destroyed in revenge. Anger prevented tears; Harry wanted to fight.
His wish came true, for just moments later, Dumbledore's body arched in agony, his mouth wide open in a silent scream. And then it ended. His body collapsed back into his chair, and his hand, which had been clutching the medal to his chest, released its grip and fell to his side. The horcrux lay loosely upon his chest, and his head tilted to the side.
Infuriated, Harry immediately lifted his mentor's head in order to lift the silver chain and medal. He let it hang from his hand for a moment while he readjusted the professor's limp body into a more natural position.
"I won't fail, sir," Harry promised through gritted teeth, and he walked to the sofa to sit. As quickly as he could, he slipped the chain around his head and pressed Tom Riddle's Hogwarts medal to his chest, anxious to confront Tom Riddle's soul.
At first, Harry felt nothing. Perhaps Dumbledore had destroyed the horcrux before he died, but soon he knew that not to be true, as a warmth slowly entered his chest, almost liquid in nature. Harry closed his eyes and focused his power on that area, his mind focused on the headmaster. The old man had weakened the horcrux tremendously. It could barely enter Harry's body, and the wizard knew that he could destroy it whenever he pleased.
"You didn't know you were getting two for the price of one, did you?" he taunted the partial soul, "Any last words before I put you out of your misery?"
"I have killed Albus Dumbledore," the horcrux managed to communicate, "That alone is worth my existence."
"But you are mistaken," Harry responded, "Albus Dumbledore sacrificed himself. You did not kill him. He sacrificed himself so that I may destroy you, as I have destroyed the others. Let it be known that Tom Riddle has failed."
"Destroy me you will, for I cannot counter your power. But Lord Voldemort will prevail, Harry Potter. Your victory is a temporary one only."
"We'll see about that, Tom," and Harry's power surged, the face of Albus Dumbledore in his mind, and within moments the horcrux vanished into nothingness. Riddle's diary, Slytherin's ring, Hufflepuff's Cup, Slytherin's locket, Nagini, and the Hogwarts medal. All destroyed. Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter had defeated them all. Now the fun could really begin.
xxxxxxxxxx
First other matters needed attention. Harry removed the medal and opened his eyes. Seeing the limp body of his mentor slumped in his favorite chair, the enormity of the situation finally began to sink in. Harry growled and hurled the medal across the room, chipping the plaster of the opposite wall. He held his head in his hands and for a minute could not move.
What should he do now? Firstly he needed to bury the body, as Dumbledore had requested. But where? Immediately, Harry realized where it must be. Inhaling deeply, he rose from the couch, donned his robe and cloak for warmth, placed the medal into his pocket, made sure he had his wand, and then gently grasped the professor's shoulder.
"I hope that this is OK, sir," he whispered a second before he turned and apparated to Godric's Hollow, reappearing in front of the graves of James and Lily Potter. Dumbledore's body, no longer supported by the chair, fell clumsily to the dirt, but Harry held on to prevent the corpse from hitting the ground too hard. He had not yet cried.
Surveying the top of the knoll, he chose an area of flat ground just above the heads of his parents' graves. With his wand, he excavated a deep grave.
"Six feet under should mean six feet under," he told himself, and he would not stop at anything less. Once satisfied, he knelt next to the corpse, and gently rearranged his delicate robe around Albus' torso.
"May I accomplish half as much as you have, sir," he pronounced, "and may I have half of your wisdom."
Late at night in December in Godric's Hollow is not a comfortable time or place, and Harry shivered in the biting breeze. Yet he did not hurry. Carefully, he levitated the headmaster's body and gently lowered it into the bottom of the grave. He pointed his wand at the arms and legs, adjusting them so that the body would lie perfectly. When finally satisfied, he stood over the grave and gazed one last time at the body of Albus Dumbledore.
Contemplating the life of the man, Harry could only shake his head. This man had accomplished so much, in war and peace, politics and education. His words could change the mind of an entire nation or lend guidance to a mediocre student. He treated the problems of a second-year Hufflepuff with the same degree of importance as affairs of state. Harry promised himself that he would follow that path.
Some final words seemed appropriate, but Harry could think of none, finally deciding that they had said all that needed to be said. With a flick of his wand, the mound of loose dirt to the right of the grave jumped into the air and filled the grave.
It was over. Harry could leave, but he remained for quite some time. A crescent moon provided a little light, and Harry sat cross-legged between his parents' graves, a few solitary lights flickering softly in the distance. He had not yet cried, as he had placed all of his concentration in his duty to bury the headmaster.
James Potter, Lily Potter, and Albus Dumbledore. The common connection? Tom Riddle. He personally killed Harry's parents, and his soul killed the professor. Tom Riddle had to be stopped, and Harry now fully accepted that he would be the person to do it. Ever since he first learned of his destiny, he desired that it not be true, that he could somehow change it.
Harry Potter now desired his destiny. A reluctant warrior he would be no longer.
Finally Harry moved back to the newly dug grave of Professor Dumbledore, and as he prepared to leave, a few tears came. He let them flow freely, for he felt no shame. Dropping to his knees, he placed his hands on the loosely packed dirt of the fresh grave, and he felt something. An energy seeped through the dirt and into his body. He felt strangely optimistic and protected, and he spread his hands apart and laid his stomach above the grave.
"Fill me up with whatever it is you have, Professor."
The process at Godric's Hollow had taken more than an hour, and finally, close to eleven, Harry knew he must leave. He wiped the tears from his cheeks, smudging dirt in the process, and took a deep breath of the cold night air. As he prepared to disappear, he heard a beautiful song in the distance, coming closer. Immediately he recognized Fawkes' notes. Perhaps the phoenix had been watching for some time, but in any event it made itself known. The notes filled the young wizard with hope and confidence as the bird landed directly on top of the grave of its great companion, Albus Dumbledore.
"Hello, Fawkes," Harry spoke almost smiling. The phoenix stared directly into Harry's eyes, and somehow Harry seemed to know its thoughts.
"You will always be welcomed wherever I am, Fawkes." The phoenix bowed its head and trilled more notes of its song. Lifting off the ground, it hovered next to Harry, offering its tail feathers. Taking one last look around, Harry reached out to grab them.
"Take me home, Fawkes."
xxxxxxxxxx
A flame unexpectedly materialized in the sitting room of Number 17, Grimmauld Place. The three worried teenagers waiting in the room jumped in shock to see their great friend, Harry Potter, appear out of the flames, holding the tail feathers of Fawkes. Harry let go and turned towards them, his three friends momentarily struck dumb. Before them stood a terrible sight. His hair, blown by the cold breeze, had tangled almost beyond description. Dirt stuck to his robe and cape, and his muddy face flushed from the chill. His red eyes betrayed his tears, and he could not hide his sadness.
Before anyone could say anything, Fawkes sang a solemn melody which expressed his despair. A moment later, the phoenix disappeared in a brief flame.
"What's happened, Harry?" Hermione gasped, as she and Ginny rushed to his side. Ron approached as well, shocked at his best friend's appearance.
"Are you OK? Why are you so dirty?" asked Ginny, grabbing his arm..
Harry paused for a moment, not sure how much he should tell them. He had worked so hard to conceal Dumbledore's existence that he found it difficult to speak openly about it, yet he could no longer see any reason why he should not.
"We destroyed the horcrux," he replied simply, though deep sadness filled his voice.
"What?" the three friends jointly asked, but Harry raised his hand and motioned them to sit down.
"The horcrux has been destroyed, but at a great cost. The man that I have been seeing put it on first, and struggled with it. This man was old and sick, and he knew that fighting the horcrux would kill him. And it did. But he severely damaged the horcrux, and when I put it on, I had no trouble finishing it off." From his trembling voice, his friends could feel the trauma that Harry had just experienced. They remained silent.
"Dobby," Harry called. The house elf appeared and jumped at the sight of his master. "I'm cold, Dobby, could you please bring us some tea or something hot."
"Certainly, Harry Potter," and with a wave of his hand a silver tray with teapot and four cups appeared.
"Make a fifth cup, Dobby, I would like you to hear this too." Dobby complied and poured the tea for the four teens and himself. Harry sipped his tea and immediately felt the warmth not only in his stomach but in his heart.
He continued, "You knew the man that I have been seeing. You knew him very well. His name was Albus Dumbledore." Gasps of shock escaped the three friends and the house elf.
"But how, Harry?" Hermione asked breathlessly, for once almost speechless.
"Snape did not kill him. Fawkes saved him before he hit the ground," he sighed, "It's a long story." And so Harry informed them of how Dumbledore survived and much of what Dumbledore and he had accomplished since his reappearance months ago, and especially the events of that day and evening. Tears streamed from his eyes as he told the tale, but tears fell from the eyes of all of them, Dobby included.
Pulling the Hogwarts medal out of his pocket, he held it up.
"It's dead now. There's only one more to go."
He wanted to go upstairs to take a long, hot shower, when a thought occurred to him.
"Winky, come here please." Harry had only briefly mentioned Winky in his retelling of the story. In a few moments, Winky appeared.
"Master called me?"
Hermione's shock at the unexpected appearance of the house elf was overcome by Winky referring to Harry as "master."
"Winky, you are a free elf. You do not need to call Harry or any wizard 'master.'"
"Actually, Hermione, she is not a free elf. I brought her here because she now belongs to me, or she will as soon as she binds herself to me. Dumbledore transferred ownership of her."
"But how could Dumbledore do that? Winky was not his slave."
"Yes she was. Dumbledore made her his slave, with her consent, during last term. He decided that Winky was so sad as a free elf, and showed so many self-destructive behaviors, that she would be happier as a slave. And in fact that turned out to be the case. Without Winky, Professor Dumbledore would have died months ago. He told me to take care of her, and whenever I think it is right, that I can free her."
Hermione could not respond, but her mouth remained opened wide. Harry turned to Winky, who had nervously moved next to Dobby.
"Winky, for the time being you will remain as my slave, at least until I have defeated Lord Voldemort, or I die in the attempt. You will live here with Dobby and help in my house. But I have certain rules. You are not to call me 'master.' I don't like it. Call me 'Harry,' or 'Harry Potter' like Dobby does. Secondly, you are not allowed to punish yourself for any purpose, even if you think you deserve it. Lastly, I give Dobby ten galleons each month, not as payment but as a gift. I will do the same for you, and you are ordered to accept it. Do you understand?"
Perhaps he had been a bit harsh with Winky in trying to demonstrate his kindness, but given the state of his emotions, he could do no better.
Winky bowed slightly and in her high-pitched voice replied, "I understand, Harry Potter. Master Dumbledore told Winky that Harry Potter will be a good master and that Winky will be happy here. May I bind myself to you now, Harry Potter?"
"Yes you may, Winky," Harry responded with a tired smile. The tiny elf approached her new master, laying her hand on his arm. She waved her other arm while reciting spells in the elvish language. While she did this, Harry stared at his other slave. Time to come clean, he decided.
"Listen, mates, I have one more thing to tell you before I clean up." He paused and again glanced at Dobby, who merely nodded his head, consenting to Harry disclosing his status. "Dobby is also my slave. We did it back in July; it was Dobby's idea." Hermione immediately straightened her back, about to say something, but Harry raised his hand to cut her off. "Wait a minute, Hermione. Let me explain. Dobby was afraid that if I named him secret keeper for my house, he could be forced to divulge the secret if he was tortured by death eaters. As a free elf, he would be able to tell the secret, but as a slave, he would be unable to do so. I wanted to name Dobby my secret keeper, and Dobby wanted to do it too, but only if he could not be forced to talk. You know I didn't want to do it, but I felt that it was the best thing to do under the circumstances. Dobby and Winky are slaves in name only; I'll free them as soon as the war is over, or if I die."
"I do not want to be a free elf," Winky squeaked, "Please do not free me. If you die, please give me to a nice wizard."
Hermione could barely believe her ears, and opened her mouth to speak, only to close it when Harry shot her a stern look. He felt in no mood to discuss the matter any further; now he craved that shower.
Turning to Winky, he concluded, "We'll talk about it later, Winky. I want to do what you want to do, but I also think you should consider being a free elf. But for now, you will remain in my service. Dobby and you can decide what each of you want to do. There's plenty of work with all of the Weasleys here."
Finally Harry reached his destination - a steaming hot shower. The day had been one of those days that seemed like three. In the morning he had been laughing with Professor Dumbledore, only to bury him a few hours later. As the dirt washed off his body and swirled down the drain, he felt his old life being sucked down as well. He had been reborn. Harry Potter as the world knew him no longer existed. Long live the new Harry Potter.