Rowena woke up again around twilight to a knock on the door. "Come in," she called weakly. Everyone she truly felt like seeing was already in the room. Although when Aquila appeared in the doorway, she felt a smile creep onto her face that even felt genuine. "Papa. I've missed you." She said each word carefully, hoping he could gather every nuance of what she meant.
He approached her bedside and sat down, wrapping his arms around her. "I've missed you, too. I've missed me. Thank you, Rowena. You did what I wasn't capable of doing."
His words reminded her why she had been so upset, why smiling was so difficult. "How can you thank me for murdering your wife? My own mother? How can you thank me when I can't even forgive me?"
"Ro, she wasn't herself; surely you saw that. She had already chosen to be less than human. You kept her from being any worse."
"I'm a murderer," she said, staring at the blank wall across from her rather than at her father. "Mum said I'm unworthy to share Harry Potter's name, and she's right. But not for the reasons she meant." Without warning, the emotions of the past four weeks welled up, too deep to stay inside of her, and she began to cry.
Aquila's arms grew tighter around her body, one hand tracing circles on her back, and even through her tears, she remembered why she loved her childhood with him so much, in the days before he was possessed. "I killed her first, Rowena. Remember that, okay? I know how you feel."
"No one else died because of you, though. Professor Finney died because of me."
There was a pause, the atmosphere heavy around them. "Do you remember the Frenchman from the memories? Monsieur duPont?"
"Of course."
"He wasn't a stranger. Your mum and I spent some time living in France before we had you, and that man - Jean Ellul - was my best friend. I wasn't supposed to know this, but I believe he was also Morgana's lover."
"It said duPont on the flask, though, not Ellul. It can't be the same man."
"That last name is what the French use to protect someone's identity. The man she murdered to create her Horcrux was the man who helped her pursue the Hallows in the first place. You and I went to France to stay with him... with her. To help them both. And I watched her kill him. I didn't even try to stop her."
"You were protecting me! You couldn't keep both of us safe, and you chose me." Understanding brightened her eyes while she looked at him. "You think I made the right decision, then?"
"Of course I do. I think all three of you - and Professor Finney - made the right decisions. You can't carry the guilt around forever. It will haunt you; the guilt is almost worse than the apparition. Trust me."
"I'll try, Papa. I will. But I can already tell I'm not the same person I used to be."
"Not all change is bad, Ro. Regardless, all change will help you grow. I'm proud of you. Please forgive yourself." He squeezed her hand and kissed her forehead, then left the room.
Professor Finney's funeral was scheduled for two days later. It was held at a small church on the outskirts of Hogsmeade and its attendance was meager. Only half the school came, and a few outsiders who must have been friends or relatives. Rowena found it difficult to think of Finney with a life outside Hogwarts; it reminded her just how much she ruined. She dressed in black and kept her hair down, letting it shield her face from everyone and block any emotion she might give away.
Rhys was beside her, in black as well, and more somber than she'd ever seen him. He held her hand, but it was with a loose grip, a formality. "I've never been to a funeral before," he whispered as he heaved open the great stone doors of the church.
"Neither have I. That I remember, at least," she amended, but her voice didn't break with bitterness. It was a fact; simply a fact. Aquila was waiting for them in the third row, near the outside. Light shone through a stained glass window, turning the wooden pew a strange mix of gold and red. The colors patterned his face, but he didn't seem to notice.
Headmaster Malfoy presided over the service. Rowena didn't have any strength left to be surprised. She let the words of her professor's life wash over her like some kind of melody. His first name was Lucas; how did she not know this after six years?
Malfoy said Finney died a noble death, protecting the school from an evil unlike any it had seen in at least a hundred years. He made it sound so much more glamorous than it actually was, panicking in the Forest. An unnecessary death. Malfoy left that part out. Rowena had told him, when he came to ask the details the day before, that Morgana claimed he had been in the way and that was reason enough for his life to end.
He must have disagreed. His omission felt like so much more than an attempt to keep his life full of meaning. In leaving it out, in telling the story differently, he gave Finney's meaningless death a purpose. In that purpose, he had dignity. And in his dignity, Rowena began to find herself able to forgive.
When the service ended, Rowena and Rhys left holding hands, heads down and silent, still paying their respects to the dead. Behind them, however, Rowena heard a "Psst!" She stopped walking and turned around to where Serah Macmillan stood.
"I heard that it's your fault," she whispered. "I heard he died trying to save you two from your own stupidity."
"Shut up, Serah," Rhys said, and tried to pull Rowena along with him.
She didn't budge. "Malfoy told you what happened, and he told you the truth. Don't believe every rumor you hear. He did die trying to save me. The thing is, he succeeded. His death gave me the strength I needed to kill Morgana. I will always regret his death. Always. And I'll probably always feel guilty about it. But I know that even if he knew what was going to happen, he still would have walked into the Forest with us." Rowena turned away from Serah, who stared at her, open-mouthed, and walked with Rhys and Genevieve back toward the castle.
"Oh, no!"
"What's wrong, Rhys?"
He bit his lip. "I, er, my ankh fell off back at the church. I should probably go back for it."
Rowena grinned. "I should come with you, and make sure you don't pick up any other interesting-looking stones."
"We both know it's you we have to worry about, in that respect."
"Um, I'll just meet you back at the castle," Genevieve said, and Rowena blushed. She'd forgotten there was anyone else around.
"Okay," Rowena said, and took Rhys's hand in her own. It felt right, having his hand in hers while they walked back. It was like their first trip to the Forest, but they were held close not by the Invisibility Cloak, but by their own hands. The first time they went to look for the ankh, she was nervous and frightened and breaking school rules. Now they didn't need the Cloak to hide them or to mask their feelings.
By the time they reached it, the church was already empty. They walked down the center aisle together, slowly, Rowena's head turned left and Rhys's head turned right, looking down the rows of pews as they passed them. Rhys finally stopped in the third row, where they had been sitting. "It's here, Ro," he said, letting go of her hand. He picked it up and strung it back around his neck. While she waited, she moved forward, to the altar at the front of the church.
He joined her there, looking intently across at her. Neither said anything for a few long minutes. "So..." Rhys said.
"So," Rowena repeated.
"It's finally over. We're safe."
"We are."
"I don't think you can have any more-"
"I guess I'm all out of-" They spoke over each other, then realized what they were saying and both stopped abruptly. "Excuses," they finally said at the same time.
"So you'll consider..."
"Rhys. It's not even a choice. Especially after everything we've been through. I... I love you, Rhys."
"I love you, too." He leaned up and kissed her, one hand drawing her close. It wasn't the right kind of passionate, not quite the dramatic kiss she expected to happen at the end of the ordeal. There wasn't enough happy in it, or enough finally. Or maybe there was enough of both, but far too much grief. But even though it was, in some ways, imperfect, it felt right.
"Should we go back, then?" Rhys asked, when they pulled away from a series of kisses that made Rowena feel safe.
"Yes, I guess we should." She smiled and took his hand, and together they made their way back up the aisle and out of the church.
Headmaster Malfoy was present at dinner that evening. "I'm sure by now you all know what happened, so I will keep this brief. Due to the unexpected death of Professor Finney, classes will be on holiday for one week. Students who wish to may spend this time with their families. Students who wish to stay are welcome, but we request that the somber nature of this event is honored by anyone who remains."
"What are you going to do?" Rhys asked her in the chaos of murmurs that rose after the Headmaster sat down.
"I think I want to go back to Godric's Hollow with Papa."
He smiled. "I had a feeling you might. Do you mind if I join you?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way. Except..."
"What?"
"I think we should invite Genevieve, too. It only makes sense, after everything she's done for us."
Rhys's face fell, almost imperceptibly, but it perked up again within moments. "You're right. We should."
When they finished eating, they found her at the Ravenclaw table, eating by herself, but seeming content about it. Rowena sat down unceremoniously. "Hey, Gen."
Her face lit up at the sight of her. "Hi, Rowena! I didn't think... I mean, now that everything's over..."
"There are some things you can't go through without becoming friends," Rowena said, smiling. "We're going to go to Godric's Hollow for the break from school. Do you want to come with us?"
"I think I'll stay here. Thanks, though, Rowena."
"Anytime, Genevieve." She turned and walked away, but only made it a few steps before abruptly turning back. "And Gen?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't think I've ever properly thanked you. So... thank you. For everything."
She smiled. "Of course. It was my pleasure."
They decided to Apparate to Godric's Hollow. The Hogsmeade train station held too many memories of Professor Finney and the ride back to town with a possessed Aquila. He had Disapparated for home right after the funeral, finally seeming like himself again.
Rowena blinked a few times, her hands on her knees, as she recovered from Apparation. Then she stood up, found Rhys's hand beside her, and entered her childhood home without knocking. "Papa? Are you around?"
"Rowena! Rhys! I didn't expect you so soon."
She shrugged. "Headmaster Malfoy is giving the school a week off while they search for a professor for Care of Magical Creatures. We wanted to come here, see how you were doing." Boxes were piled around the kitchen, and Rowena had to weave her way to find her father. "What exactly are you doing?"
"I can't stay here, Rowena. Surely you understand. I need to move away from Godric's Hollow. There are just too many memories here."
"Not for me, there aren't," Rowena said. "There aren't nearly enough."
"Oh, sweetheart." Aquila looked up from his packing and turned not to Rowena, but to Rhys. "Do you mind waiting here for a minute?"
"Not at all."
Rowena followed her father back toward his bedroom, where the cabinet with the Pensieve was open. A pile of empty flasks lay on the floor haphazardly, but Rowena noticed the shelves of her own memories were intact. "These weren't mine to get rid of," he said. "It's up to you what you want to do with them. The Pensieve is ready."
There were rows upon rows of memories: at least a hundred. They were meticulously labeled with the date and time of extraction, but didn't have any clue as to the subject matter of each. It would take hours - days - to sort through them all. "Are they all missing memories of Mum?"
Aquila nodded sadly beside her.
"How many of them are happy memories? Ones I would want to have?"
He looked through them, their dates, their contents, but she didn't think he was trying to remember what happened on each day. His expression was more unfocused than that, like he was somehow letting all the memories soak in at once. These memories weren't lost to him, she realized, as she noticed his eyes glazing over. If she wanted them, all she had to do was ask, and he could tell her stories - true ones - about her childhood. "One. Maybe two," he finally said.
"Let's destroy them all."
"Are you sure?"
"Definitely," she said, and grabbed a flask to prove her point.
Rhys and Rowena spent the remainder of the evening helping her father pack. Rowena was surprised, with how much of her childhood was stolen, how many memories the house still held for her. It was bittersweet, the packing up, but it felt necessary and almost therapeutic. Starting over again would be good for her father. No, she corrected, it would be good for them both. She stole a glance at Rhys and smiled.
"I think that's enough for tonight," Aquila said, and they gathered in the living room. "I have something for you. Come here?"
Rowena approached and sat down on the arm of the chair while he rummaged through a bag at his feet. He sat up again and handed over the Invisibility Cloak. "Where did you find that?"
"Headmaster Malfoy had it. He gave it to me when I returned home, said I could do with it what I saw fit. And I think you are a much more responsible owner of it than I am."
She ran it through her fingers, letting the soft fabric soothe her. Two of the three Hallows were in her hands, although they could never again be united. "Papa?"
"Yeah?"
"What do you know about our family history?"
Her father got up from his armchair and crossed the room, picking up an old album that hadn't yet been packed away. The pages were almost brown with age, but the title on the cover shone clearly. The Genealogy of Harry James Potter.
"So... it's true?" she asked, flipping through the pages. Their history was surprisingly well-documented.
"That Harry Potter is our ancestor? Yes."
"Well, more that Harry Potter really lived. It's hard to wrap my mind around. He's a fairy tale character. I can't picture him alive any more than I can picture Merlin alive."
"Almost all legends have their basis in fact, Rowena. Even the cult of Harry Potter probably gets some things about him right sometimes. But I don't care what it is you believe about Harry Potter or who you're related to some thirty generations ago."
"You don't?"
"Of course not, sweetheart. You could worship him in the cult or be one of those who insist he never existed, and it wouldn't bother me. I know he really existed. I have the proof here. And I have stories my ancestors told me about stories their ancestors told them, back and back. He lived to see his great-great-grandchildren born, and they went on to see their great-great-grandchildren born, and suddenly he's not so far away anymore. So I know he was human. And I like to think that he was truly a hero.
"But more important to me than any of that is how you live today, Rowena. What you choose to do with your life. What you believe about yourself." He pulled her close for a hug, and although Rowena felt awkward to hug her father in front of Rhys, she let him. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she felt four again. "So far, you've proven to be every bit as much of a hero as Harry Potter. To me, that's far more important than who you share a last name with."
"Thanks, Papa."
Rowena and Rhys decided to leave in the morning. She was glad to see her father, but having thrown out the memories brought her peace like nothing else had. She was ready to return to Hogwarts and remember what it was like to be a normal student again, with revision and disorganized piles of notes to sort through. A week without classes was probably exactly what she needed to catch up, after all.
"Goodbye, Papa," she said at the door, and kissed his cheek. "I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you, too, Ro. Don't forget to write!"
"I won't."
"Rhys?" she asked as they walked down the pathway together. "Do you mind if we take the train back to Hogwarts?"
"Are you sure you'll be okay?"
"I'm sure." A day-long journey through the countryside would keep them occupied, after all. It felt like easing her way back into normality, like the way the scenery changed so seamlessly from English countryside to Scottish highlands.
Rowena saw Godric's Hollow through different eyes as she walked; she saw it through the eyes of someone leaving for good. Through the eyes of someone who truly believed Harry Potter once lived here. She paused at the graveyard at the outskirts of town. "Do you mind if we go in?"
"Feel free," Rhys responded, and opened the kissing gate.
Row upon row revealed itself, older than Rowena had ever imagined. "Wow."
"Have you never been in here before?"
"I thought it was a load of codswallop; I never gave it a chance." They kept moving, but near the middle, she slowed and finally stopped.
She expected the gravestone to be larger.
Maybe it was a fake, after all. But Rowena no longer believed so.
Here lies Harry James Potter, who died an old man.
But he will always be the Boy Who Lived.
31 July 1981 - 1 August 2100
When she stood up again, the plain-looking black obelisk behind the gravestone changed into a beautiful golden statue of a man, woman, and child. And on the child's forehead was a scar. "Harry Potter really lived here," she said, finally.
"Yes, and you are living here right now." Rhys leaned over and kissed her as they stood beneath the statue of Harry Potter. She may have been standing in the shadow of her past, but she was kissing a man who would help her bring about her future. As his lips grew more insistent against hers, and he pulled her even closer, Rowena Potter sighed.
The end.
Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with me. I would love it if you could leave me a review now that it is over. Please let me know what you thought. Writing this has been a fantastic journey and I feel like I've learned a lot. Thank you; every reader I have had has made this story even more worth it as I write.
Mischief Managed.