Title: All That Glitters
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize does not belong to me, including parts of this chapter that are taken directly from DH, Chapter Thirty-Five: King's Cross.
Author's note: So this chapter is actually the reason why I wrote this story. The first part of it was an idea that had been bugging me for a very long time, and I just really needed to get it written... Hope you enjoy. Also, note that because some of this is AU, when Harry "died" after surrendering to Voldemort, things went a little differently for him. As you will see in this chapter.
Summary: Even after all this time, Lily was still saving him.
Not all that is gold does glitter
Not all those who wander are lost
Chapter Twenty-One: Conversations With Dead People
"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her."
The prisoner opened his eyes slowly, drawing a shaky breath. It rattled in his throat, air pushing against bruised vocal chords in a strangled sort of half-gasp. The mat of greasy hair was pushed roughly aside as black eyes darted about the cell, taking in the surroundings. The stone walls offered little details of interest besides the growing mold and the damp trickle of water.
Severus Snape pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and looked around. The air was unnaturally cold, and feelings of dread, guilt, and pain seemed to flow through his veins like blood. He knew there was a Dementor lingering just outside the door, watching his prison cell. It was leeching the happiness out of his body, drawing away any of the thoughts that could have helped him hold on to his sanity. It was as though he was teetering at the brink of insanity, only his fiercely stubborn will holding him upright.
"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!"
The words echoed over and over in his mind, a mantra he could not keep at bay. He could see her face, green eyes widened in surprise, and then the shutters dropped and her expression was cool and unreadable. He could see the anger flashing in her eyes, could see the hurt and pain and everything else that Potter in all his arrogance did not notice.
He wished he could take it back. He wished, more than anything else in the world, that he could undo what had happened...
But he couldn't. Lily was dead.
Outside the cell, the Dementor floated closer towards the door, inhaling deeply, absorbing the memories and leaving Snape with nothing but the echo of those hateful words, over and over and over and over and over...
He stumbled slightly, then took a few steps backwards and leaned against the wall. The moisture collected in small drops, running down the stone and clinging to his tattered robes. The darkness started encroaching on his vision as his tired brain tried to shut down, tried to force him back into unconsciousness.
Then he shifted his weight slightly at his body pressed against something in his pocket.
The thought entered his mind, but it took a few moments to push past the barrier of fog and confused thoughts and process what it was.
The ring.
He remembered, vaguely, that he had taken it from the cottage when he met Shacklebolt in the Forbidden Forrest. Something he had not understood, some sensation that made no sense, had insisted that he take it, that he keep it close. It was something important, something precious...
He slid his hand into his pocket and withdrew the ring, staring at it. The stone was cracked, testament to the power of the Godric Gryffindor's blade. It lay in the palm of his hand, looking so innocuous, so simple and unimportant... but it had been important. It had been important enough that the Headmaster had risked his life to obtain it, to destroy it... to wear it.
"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her."
He remembered her, so clearly, so vividly... She was standing before him by the lake, her eyes flickering with hurt and betrayal before they turned blank, forever closed to his pleas. She was standing in the hallway outside her common room, her expression devoid of the once always-present sympathy. She caught his gaze across the Great Hall and turned away... Potter's arm around her shoulders.
Other memories flitted around the edges of his mind, glimpses of his mother's face covered with bruises, flashes of his father's anger. But it was Lily who stood in the limelight, Lily who never left, whose presence never faded even after all this time. The skin around her eyes was tight with accusation, her lips were pressed into a thin line of dislike and fury, she was walking past him, ignoring him... But then she stopped and turned, looking back, and while her eyes never changed, the rest of her twisted and contorted, and suddenly he was staring at Harry Potter instead. It was strange to see the boy, to see Lily's eyes narrowed at him in such hatred. Because even after their split, even after she had refused to ever speak to him again, her eyes had not held that type of utter distaste. Dislike, yes, and betrayal. But not disgust. He was not prepared for it.
He looked down at his hand again, but forming a thought was so difficult, so near impossible, that the ring looked like nothing more than a useless trinket. He almost dropped it to the ground.
But he thought of Lily again, a somber, guilt-ridden twisting in his stomach, and his fingers closed over the ring.
The werewolf at the end of the tunnel... Black's maniacal laugh... Potter pulling him to safety... Lily refusing to believe him, refusing to listen to his theories, his pleas... he knew what Lupin was.
A werewolf.
A decent human being.
Dead.
Like Lily.
"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her."
"Lily..." he whispered, the word barely audible, sounding no louder than the faint echo of a far away noise. "Lily, I... I'm sorry. I... love you."
He turned the ring over in his hand.
And suddenly she was standing before him. She was pale, ghostly, a shimmering silver like a Patronus. Her mere presence in the room seemed to suffuse the air with heat, and the warmth chased away the darkness, pressing the shadows back against the wall. The memories of her death, of his mother and his father, of the werewolf, of James and Harry Potter... they all faded behind the glow of her smiling face.
The Dementor outside the room glided backwards a few paces, disturbed by the sudden rush of peace emanating from the cell.
"Lily?" Snape gasped.
"Hello, Severus."
"I... how...?" He reached out towards her, his hand slipping through the phantom and clutching at air. She was not there, not really... she had to be simply a figment of his overactive imagination, of his exhaustion, of the Dementor floating just outside the door. "You're not real," he whispered. "You cannot be real."
She smiled faintly, green eyes never leaving his. "I am real. As real as you are." Her eyes drifted to his clenched fist, to the ring. "Don't drop that."
He knew that Dementors drove people to insanity. He had heard the stories, both from the Ministry of Magic and from the Dark Lord. Both had used the vile creatures for their own ends, and those ends often resulted in people going mad, killing themselves in a final act of desperation to avoid the torment. He had to be going mad. There was no other explanation for it, no other way that this could be happening to him. No other way that she could be there, standing before him, a ghost of someone long gone.
He nearly laughed.
She reached out, her hand lingering just inches from his face, as though she wanted to touch his cheek. But she did not, and eventually her hand fell back to her side.
"You can't be real. You can't be... You're dead." He said the word, spitting it from in between clenched teeth. Was this just another means to torment him, another type of torture thought up by the Ministry? But how could they know what he felt for her? How could they possibly understand? And yet there she was, standing before him, as though she was really, truly, actually there.
"I am dead," Lily agreed.
He thought his heart might split in two. Did she know? Did she know that it was all his fault? Did she know that he had brought about her death, that he had delivered the prophesy to the Dark Lord? He had her blood on his hands just as surely as if he had uttered the spell himself.
"I... I'm sorry," he said, looking away. He slumped further against the wall, sinking down until he was sitting on the stone floor. She was shinning just a little less brightly, her green eyes just a little less vibrant. The warmth emanating from her seemed to fizzle, cold seeping into the room through the cracks in the heavy stone wall. He shivered, tears pricking at his eyes, a dull burning appearing behind his lids.
The Dementor outside the door shuffled a little closer to the room.
Lily gave a half-shrug. "I am, too," she replied, although he did not know what she was apologizing for. Or was she simply saying that she was sorry that she had died as well? Was it not an apology but an acknowledgment that he was to blame for all that had happened?
He stared at the ground. A bit of moss was growing through a hairline fissure in the stone. It was slick and green and covered in tiny drops of water. It was strange, he reflected, how so many different types of plants managed to grow in the most inhospitable of places. How could it thrive in a cell devoid of sunlight, of fresh air, of nutrients? What did it use for energy? He was a potions Master, and he had used almost every magical ingredient known to the wizarding world in his service to Dumbledore and to the Dark Lord. But he had rarely stopped to question how these plants lived, how they grew, how they survived.
"You and Harry are not so unalike," Lily continued. "He is more like you than you realize."
Snape grimaced. Was this more punishment, another reminder of all that he had done? He had deprived the young Harry Potter of a chance to know either parent, or a chance to have a happy childhood. And, in a twisted, rather ironic way, he had been the one to make the prophesy come true, to force it upon the boy. After all, what was so special about Lily's sacrifice? People died for their children, for each other, all the time, and yet their sacrifices rarely imbued the others with an ability to be invulnerable. But Lily's death had given Harry the power to resist the killing curse. Why?
Because she hadn't needed to die. Because the others who were killed by the Dark Lord, he would have killed them no matter what. But Lily...Snape had convinced the Dark Lord to spare Lily's life, spare the life of a Mudblood, and when she refused to move away from her son, it was only then that she had died. And left Harry marked by a power that the Dark Lord did not understand... And so it was Snape who had delivered the prophesy to the Dark Lord, and then begged for the one favor that made it all come true.
"Come on, Severus," Lily chided gently. "Look at me."
He raised his eyes and met her gaze. There was no accusation there, but there was little friendliness either. Instead, he found himself staring at an expression of curiosity and mild reproach.
"Why are you doing this to yourself? Why are you so convinced that you cannot tell others the truth?"
"What is truth?" Snape answered, his voice rough, catching in his throat even as he attempted to force the words out into the air between them. "The truth is that I have killed. And done far worse than that."
"And far better."
He looked away, blinking against the tears. "I killed you."
"Yes," she agreed simply. "You did. So did Voldemort. So did Peter. So did a lot of people, actually. But you... you helped, as well. You protected my son."
That brought a dry, choked laugh from Snape's throat. "Protected?" he mocked, shaking his head. "What protection did I offer? What did I give him besides scorn and resentment?" He could picture, so clearly, his words to Harry Potter during the very first potions lesson of his very first year. Hadn't he mocked the boy when he didn't know the right answers, hadn't he taken a House point from Potter when it had been Longbottom who had made the mistake? What were his reasons? Could he truly claim he was trying to teach Potter anything, or had it all been fury that he was staring at a miniature James Potter, his own worst nightmare, his nemesis' looks with his true love's eyes.
A shadow fell across the room, the Dementor sliding a little closer to the door, inhaling a little more of the contentment, the happiness, and the warmth from the room.
Lily was fading before his very eyes.
His fingers clutched even more tightly at the ring, remembering her warning not to drop the stone. He did not know why it was important, but... But she said it was important, and that was enough.
"Why, Lily?" he asked finally. "I... I told you I was sorry. I said... I never meant to... Why are you here now, when I needed you then? Why have you come back to torment me?"
She knelt before him, the silver light glowing about her, pushing away more shadows. She was so young, just as he remembered her. But her eyes were much older, and filled with several emotions he could never even begin to identify.
"I have not come to torment you," she answered.
"What have you come for?"
"Closure. For both of us."
Snape shook his head. "Too late, Lily. It's all... too late. You said so yourself. I chose my path... and you chose yours." With Potter. With that arrogant James Potter and his band of pathetically worshipping followers.
As though she had heard his thoughts, she said, "He changed, Severus. He was arrogant and a bully during our first years, that's true. But he did change." She blinked once or twice, and Snape wondered if she was forcing away tears. Could she be crying as well? But for what? "And you changed as well," Lily added.
"I never... Lily, I... I love you."
There was a momentary silence, a complete stillness that fell over the cell. It was intense and awkward and broken only by the rapid beating of Snape's heart at the subtle drip of tiny droplets of water sliding down the damp stone walls. Then the noise began, like the rattling of the wind through dead tree branches, as the Dementor floated just a little bit closer towards the door, as the heat seeped from the room, slipping in between the cracks.
Lily rose to her feet and stepped back, eyes reflecting indecision and hurt. "But not as much as you loved them, Severus. Not as much as you loved your friends and your power and your reputation. And the Dark Arts." She turned away, breathing heavily as though she had sprinted a long ways. "You couldn't... you couldn't understand what was important to me... you couldn't try."
"I did try."
"Did you?" Lily turned completely away from him and walked to the other side of the small room. "Did you ever understand why what Mulciber did to Mary was so wrong? Did you ever understand why it would hurt me that you called other Muggleborns Mudbloods? Did you ever understand why it did not matter how you treated me when you made it so clear that you thought anyone of Muggle parents was worthless?"
"Not you, Lily. Never you."
"You wanted to be a Death Eater! You were infatuated by people whose sole mission was to rid the world of anyone with my bloodline. Don't you understand that it didn't matter what you thought of me when I knew exactly what you thought of them?" She was crying, he realized, hearing the tears in her voice, the sobs that she just barely managed to keep away. When she faced him, he was not surprised to see the telltale tracks on her face, the redness around her eyes.
"I could have changed," he whispered.
"When? When were you going to change? Certainly not then, certainly not in those seven years at school. I made excuses for you for five years, and you never once changed. You were so..." She stopped, her words coming up short, and ran a hand through her hair, biting her lip.
"You made excuses for Potter." He had not meant to say the words, but they had lingered inside him for too long. The bitterness, like a festering wound, abruptly broke forth, and he hissed them at her, eyes narrowed. She stepped back, pushing even further against the opposite wall, her face devoid of all color. As though he had slapped her.
But when she answered, her voice was steady and calm, "Like I said, he changed. He made an effort to be someone I could spend my life with. You never had the chance to know him as a man, but he was different. He was compassionate and honorable and brave. I could make excuses for all the arrogant, dishonest, dirty things he did as a teenager because he was no longer that person. Don't you see, Severus? When he changed, it was for the better. When you changed... it wasn't. After out fifth year... I barely even recognized you anymore."
"Lily..."
"I loved you, too. Which I proved, by standing up for you, time and again, for five years. But you chose your path, and it wasn't with me."
"I wanted it to be with you. It could have been, if you'd..."
"If I'd what?" Lily asked with a weary sigh, shaking her head again. "Given you another chance? I did. I gave you so many, and you..." She blinked rapidly and drew a ragged breath. "You were my best friend. I trusted you, I told you my secrets, I... I loved you. And then you became one of them. You... betrayed me. You chose them long before I ever chose James, before I ever became friends with Sirius and Remus. What could I have done to change that, Severus, when I was not the one who split us apart in the first place? How could I have made you see when you refused to open your eyes? I could overlook James past because his future was better. But you... how could I save you if you would not let me?"
Snape did not answer right away. There were so many things he'd wanted to say to Lily over the years, and now that she was right here, standing before him, he could not even begin to form the right sentences. He had already said that he loved her and that he was sorry, but that wasn't enough. He had to say more, had to make her understand that he was different now. He was better. He had changed.
"I tried to save you," he said finally.
"But not James or Harry. Would you have let them die, if the Headmaster had not made you change your plea? Would you have let my husband and my son, two of the most important people in the entire world to me, be murdered by a madman?"
Snape could not answer. At the time that he had gone to Dumbledore, his only concern had been Lily's life and safety. Even in the years that he had spent watching over Harry, to his best to protect the danger-prone Potter, it had always only been for Lily. Did he even care about Harry Potter? He did not know. But he loved Lily with all his heart, and he would have given anything to make her happy.
Even if it meant she was happy with someone else.
"What do you want from me, Lily?" Snape asked finally, suddenly exhausted. He forced himself to his feet, the ring still clutched tightly in his hand.
"Closure," she whispered.
"How can I give you that? Tell me what you want me to do, and I will do it."
"I just... I want you to be happy, Severus. Even when I hated you... I always wanted that." She took a few steps towards him, until they were standing only feet apart, staring at each other intently.
"I have changed," Snape murmured. "I am sorry it was not soon enough for you. For... us."
She gave a faint smile. "Yes," she answered thoughtfully, "you have changed. I see the way you act now... You do care about others. The Malfoys ... you do truly care about their fate, about what happens to them." He did not know if that was supposed to be another slight, another pointed comment that he cared only for Slytherins , even after all this time. But Lily continued, "The past is over and done. I
just... I want you to move forward. I want us to be able to... put everything in the past. Move on."
"Closure," Snape muttered.
"Yes."
"And how do you expect me to give it to you?" Snape countered. "I don't know what you want."
"I told you," Lily answered. "I want you to be happy."
"I'm trying."
"No, you're not. You're hiding away from the world because you think it is easier. Does it make you happy, Severus, to always be looking over your shoulder? Does it make you happy to know that you are universally despised for crimes you did not commit?"
"What about all the ones I did commit, Lily? Is one good deed enough to cancel out all the other bad ones? The world will not forgive. People do not so easily forget."
"How will you know, unless you give others the chance to decide?"
Snape shook his head slowly and did not reply. He could not tell her that he was afraid, could not admit to fear in front of the woman he loved so much. But he had the feeling that she saw through his bravado, that she knew just how terrified he was underneath all the courage. He could claim that he did not care what others thought, but that was not true. He did care, as much as it loathed him to admit to it. He did not want to have to show his memories, to have them judge his actions. He did not want to be called a coward or a traitor or all the other names he was sure society would throw at him.
They hated him now, and that was fine. But what would happen if they pitied him? If they mocked him?
It would be like the seven years at Hogwarts all over again, only this time no one would ever come to his aid. Not now that Lily was gone... After all, who would care enough to listen to his arguments, to look at his memories? Who would care enough to investigate his story? The world did not want a hero, they wanted a traitor. They wanted vengeance.
"I'm sorry," Snape whispered. And this time he was not sure what he was apologizing for.
"I know, Sev," Lily answered, his nickname falling unintentionally from her lips. "I know."
"I made a mistake. Potter was arrogant, Black was a bully, Lupin was too cowardly to stand up to his friends. But you... you stood up for me, Lily. When no one else would. That was what made you different from them... and from every other witch or wizard, Muggleborn or pureblood , that I've ever met." He looked down at the floor. "Maybe they did change. Maybe we all changed. But you are right, it is in the past. All our decisions... mine, yours... they're all in the past."
It was all he could offer her, and he knew it was not much. But it was the closure she wanted, and he hoped that would be enough.
Then, as an after thought, he added, "You did save me, Lily. Even if you didn't ever realize it. I'm trying to be a better person because of you."
The glow around her burst suddenly, exploding into silver light that flooded the entire room. Snape cried out in surprise, in shock, and threw both hands in front of his face to block the sudden rush of bright light. The air buzzed with electricity and heat, but even as he registered the strange sensation of warmth crawling through his tired limbs, he opened his hand and the ring tumbled from his grasp, falling to the floor. The silver light faded, as did the image of Lily, and he was left alone in the silent room.
The Dementor slid closer to the door, gliding over the ground. But Snape did not notice. His eyes were fixed on the spot Lily had stood, as though he could still see her phantom, the shadowy imprint of her soul left behind. He thought perhaps the room became colder again, thought that perhaps unwelcome memories were playing through his mind. It did not matter, none of it. The Dementor could not take his happiness, could not take any of his contentment or inner peace. The Dark creature was helpless against him, because now, when he thought of Lily, he no longer saw the betrayal or pain in her eyes, no longer heard his own unforgivable slur. Instead, he saw her standing before him, her whispered words of comfort floating all around.
Even after all this time, Lily was still saving him.
Harry lay face-down, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself.
Still... the surface below him was smooth to the touch, and when he blinked in shimmered into view, the cloudy vapor around him fading into nothing. He rose unsteadily to his feet, his robes rustling about as he peered through the nothingness, the strange expanse of white. Shadows started creeping out of the fog, and high above him a glittering glass dome appeared, sending refracted light playing across the ground. He was in some sort of hall, a hall he did not recognize, did not remember having ever seen before... even though it looked strangely familiar.
A sound came to him. A hum, a whisper, a cry. A strange sob that melted into the background almost as soon as it had come. A whimper.
He turned on the spot. He was not wearing his glasses, but everything was diamond bright and crystal clear. His eyes swept through the strange hall, peering into the vast whiteness until he saw...
It.
A child, or perhaps something more than that. A thing, wrapped in cloth, twisted away from him. A crying thing, unwanted, stuffed out of sight, struggling for breath.
He took a wary step forward. "What...?"
The thing moved. He saw, then, the slits for eyes, the snake-like nose, the pale skin. It whimpered again, but he did not feel sorry for it. He was afraid, afraid of something he could not explain, something that made no sense at all. This thing, this fragmented child, this unwanted creature... he wanted to comfort it, to reach out in reassurance. It was afraid as well, but it repulsed him, and he stepped back, turned away.
He knew what it was. And though he felt fear - for it was powerful - and disgust - for it was repulsive - he also felt pity. For it was alone, and dying.
The twisted, shattered remains of Voldemort's torn soul.
"You cannot help."
He looked up sharply and found himself staring at twinkling blue eyes.
"Sir...?"
"Harry." Dumbledore almost embraced him, but brought himself up short and shook his head. "You wonderful boy." Again, he shook his head and corrected himself, "You brave man. Come, let us walk."
Harry nodded and followed the Headmaster, still in a daze. The rest of the fog was completely gone, replaced now by rows of benches and chairs and long stretches of walkway that disappeared into the distance. He looked around, taking in the sight, wondering where he was and how he had gotten there. Still... Dumbledore was dead, and yet he was here, so didn't that mean there was really only one explanation?
"I think, my dear boy, that you are most likely not as gone as you believe."
Harry did not even bother asking how Dumbledore knew what he had been thinking. Instead, he said, "How so? I should have died. I meant to die." He was suddenly angry, so absolutely livid. He had done so much in an effort to keep Voldemort from winning, and now he would fail in the eleventh hour? Fail because he couldn't simply die?
Something moved beyond his line of vision, a faint glimmer of silver. It faded when he turned to look at it, disappearing before he could catch any details. But his anger drained as well, replaced by a heavy resignation.
This was not over yet.
"And that," Dumbledore replied happily, "is what will have made all the difference."
"But... how?"
"You let him kill you, Harry," Dumbledore answered gently. "You let him kill you, and so he killed the part of his soul that was trapped in you." Blue eyes strayed towards the thing, the crying, whimpering, murmuring child. "It is gone now, dying quickly. There is nothing left to do, nothing that can save it."
Harry licked his dry lips. "I am the last...?" But he stopped, did not finish the question. He could not bear to face what it meant, to accept the fact that he had spent so many years with a part of someone else inside of him, a connection he did not understand. Voldemort's torn soul had lingered inside his own body for years... and he had never known. How could he have carried something so corrupted, so evil, with him and not have even realized it?
Dumbledore gripped his shoulder then, his hand firm and healthy.
"He took my blood," Harry said, more to himself than to Dumbledore. "My mother's protection. Did it work for him as well? I don't understand."
"Lily's sacrifice can only protect who she sacrificed her life to save," Dumbeldore answered. "But while your mother's blood flowed in Voldemort's veins, your two lives were tethered together. That which he does not understand, he does not value. And there is so much Voldemort does not understand. House-elves and children's tales and love, loyalty, innocence... Of all those things, Voldemort knows nothing. It has all been beyond his ability to grasp."
"And is he... is he dead?" Harry looked at the fragmented soul. "Is there more of him, out in the world?"
"Oh yes," Dumbledore answered gravely. "The piece of his soul that still resides in his body is alive, and so is he. He attempted to kill you with his wand, and served only to kill part of himself. But not all... no, not all. Which is why, my dear boy, you must continue to fight this battle. The end is near, and he has so much more to fear than you."
"Will I win?"
"Ah, Harry... if I had the power to see the future, perhaps so much of our lives might have been different." He looked wistful for a moment, his thoughts on far away matters. Then his eyes slid back to Harry's face and he added, "As you must have learned by now, seeing the future is a very rare gift indeed... though some may think it a curse. But, should I hazard a guess, I would say it is very likely you would succeed. You have courage, you have love, you have an understanding of sacrifice and freedom. All these, Voldemort does not have. Yes, I should say you would win."
"Even without the Elder wand?"
"A wand can be powerful, Harry, but it is the power of the witch or wizard that truly matters. And besides... who is to say the Elder wand is not yours by right? The wand chooses the wizard, after all, and not the other way around."
Harry nodded, even though he did not fully understand. The bewilderment he felt grew to irritation, and abruptly the irritation turned into frustrated fury. As usual, Dumbledore was being evasive in his answers. Couldn't he simply give a straight yes or no? Couldn't he answer the question asked instead of hinting at bits of knowledge that might have meant something else completely? Why did he always have to be such an enigma?
Something moved again, right before his eyes, to blurry for him to see. It was mist and vapor and fog, gone just as quickly as it came, just a flash of silver.
"The Hallows," Harry said suddenly. "I saw... I saw them. My parents. My mother." A faint smile pulled at his lips as he thought of her, red hair and green eyes, his eyes.
Dumbledore winced, but answered steadily, "Yes, Harry. The Hallows. A fool's dream. And I was such a fool. Such a fool, indeed." And it unfolded slowly, painfully, the story of a child locked within her own mind, a family falling apart, a prideful boy searching for praise, a young, would-be Dark Lord hunting for power.
Harry swallowed back his emotions, listening quietly. He had heard it all before from Aberforth, heard the horror of their childhood, of their mother's death, of Grindelwald's coming, of Ariana's final actions. Too late to take back the wrongs that had been done, too late to save the family that had turned upon itself, crashing and burning. But to hear it from Dumbledore , to hear him talk of his own resentment, his desire to shine, his thirst for knowledge... It was to see the man who he had once thought infallible, practically inhuman in his wisdom, as nothing more than a child. A boy with too much responsibility on his shoulders, a boy who could not withstand the temptation of power.
"Grindelwald," Dumbledore murmured. "Oh, you cannot imagine how his ideas inflamed me."
And yet... Harry could imagine it. Because those very ideas had inflamed him as well. The desire to find the Hallows... hadn't that bordered on obsession? He did not need to ask Dumbledore to know that he had been kept in the dark for a reason. Only Hermione's continual comments had kept him from allowing his hot head to rule his good heart. Without her, would he have attempted to control the Hallows the way Dumbledore had?
Probably.
They were more alike than even he had fully understood. Until now.
Dumbledore continued his story, a story that had turned into one of regret and guilt and self-recrimination. A story of his own determination to avoid power, to keep away from it as much as possible. And understanding that he could not be trusted with it, because power corrupted.
And absolute power corrupted absolutely.
"They say he feared me," Dumbledore said softly, "and perhaps he did. But not nearly as much as I feared him. Oh, not death. No, what I feared was his knowledge. You see, I never knew who cast the curse... in that last, dreadful fight... the horrific curse that killed my sister. But he knew... and I was afraid of facing him. Of learning the truth... Oh, Harry, I dreaded beyond all things the knowledge that it had been I who brought about her death, not merely through my arrogance and stupidity, but that I actually struck the blow that snuffed out her life."
He gave a little shuddering gasp and a single tear made its way down his cheek.
"I think he knew it. I think he knew what frightened me. I delayed meeting him until finally it would have been too shameful to resist any longer. People were drying and he seemed unstoppable and I had to do what I could. And you know what happened next. I won the duel. I won the wand."
Harry looked around the place, and realized, quite suddenly, that he was in King's Cross station. Trains passed silently behind him, making no noise at all. And still Dumbledore stared at him, his ragged breathing and the pitiful weeping of the broken child the only sound in the stillness.
It would not be easy to go back. He had already lost so much to Voldemort... too much. His mother, his father, his godfather, his mentor, Dobby... how many more would die before this was over? How could he return again to face the possibility of his death? Or, worse still, the possibility of losing? Of watching the world crumble around him, of knowing that his failure to defeat Voldemort had brought about the enslavement of people like Hermione? She would be killed... or worse.
If he died now, if he simply got on a train and did not come back...
But he could not. Like Dumbledore, he had to face his fears, face all that had happened. He could not go backwards, so all he could do was move forward and hope it would be enough. Was that the lesson he was supposed to learn here? That the past was over and done with, and the only way anyone could ever go was forward?
But he did not want to learn it. He did not want to go back. He did not want to leave at all...
There were so many other questions he wanted to ask. A morbid part of him wanted to know if Dumbledore had learned the truth from Grindelwald, had learned who had actually killed the young Ariana. Another part wanted to demand answers about Snape, about how that vile man could have ever been considered trustworthy. And all the while a voice in his head was demanding to know if Dumbledore had known this all along, had planned on this ending since the very beginning, since he first heard the prophesy. Or was it just something that he had realized only shortly before his death? And why, why, why did this all have to happen to him?
Did he really believe in the power of love even when it hurt so much to lose someone?
He opened his mouth to demand the answers, or perhaps to refuse to return. He was not sure what he wanted to say, only that he was so tired and he did not want to face Voldemort again.
And then the same silver glow appeared, faint and barely discernible. He caught a glimpse of movement, a fluttering of red and white, a glimmer goal...
And green. For a moment, he saw eyes staring back at him. Green and smiling and so like his, and in that fraction of a second, just the tiniest heartbeat of time...
He knew.
They were his mother's eyes.
Dumbledore had always said the power of love could outshine all other magic. It was the Hallows that had brought her spirit here, that had allowed him to see her ghost, the imprint of her departed soul for just a few minutes in the woods. But even though he had dropped the Resurrection Stone, she was still here, still lingering within him. He could not always see her, but at least he could feel her presence, feel the warmth in his heart that he finally realized was due to her.
"I have to go back, don't I?" Harry murmured wearily.
He never did ask any of the other questions.
Harry shoved the door open and stormed into the room, his eyes narrowed in anger. He did not know how he had entered Hogwarts unnoticed by anyone. Minerva McGonagall was dead, so there was no longer a Headmistress to guard the hallowed halls. But he assumed that there had to be others - Professors and staff - who should have seen him rushing haphazardly across the grounds.
No one had seen him, or at least no one had stopped him, and perhaps that was for the best.
He stood then, in the center of the oval-shaped room, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. The gargoyle had sprung aside without even asking for a password, and he had climbed the circular staircase with the blood pounding in his ears. But now that he was here, now that he was staring hard at Dumbledore's portrait, all the fury came rushing together in such a torrent that it made it nearly impossible to speak.
Dumbledore did not seem surprised to see him. The portrait smiled, his blue eyes twinkling merrily, and that only served to make Harry angrier.
He wanted to demand an explanation. Why had Snape been trying to save McGonagall? Why did Snape even care? How did he know what was going on in the rest of the world when he was in hiding? What was going to happen now that McGonagall and Diggory were both dead and Kingsley was in Azkaban? How could Dumbledore had died, have left them so alone, when they desperately needed a leader? It was as though the entire world was crumbling right before his very eyes, and he had no idea how to stop it.
Hadn't he already fought for the world once? Wasn't that enough? Would it ever be enough?
But it was not those questions that he asked. He had not spoken much to the portrait since the battle for Hogwarts. He had not wanted to dwell on the past, on what had happened, what he had lost. He wanted instead to move forward, to leave the turmoil and agony of war behind and enter what he had hoped would be a better world. So the question, the quiet one that lingered in the back of his mind, whispering its words only in the still of the night when there was nothing at all to distract him... it was the question that suddenly came bursting forth.
"Did you always know I was the last Horcrux? Did you know that all along?"
The portrait at least did not lie to him. "I suspected it," he answered, "from the moment I first guessed that Voldemort was using Horcruxes."
"You knew I would die?"
"I hoped you would not."
"Hope? Hope? You risked my life on hope?"
The blue eyes were no longer twinkling. "Hope is all we ever have in a war, Harry," was the reproachful reply. "Hope that tomorrow will be better. That we can make it better."
"I can't just sit around and hope," Harry spat in reply. He ignored the other portraits on the wall, not bothering to watch the way they leaned towards him, listening avidly to the conversation. "It isn't enough." He stopped, drew a breath, tried to get his temper under control. Then gave up on that entirely and found himself shouting, "You raised me to be killed! To die in your war! Did you ever care about me or was that just some stupid trick of yours, just like everything else?"
"Harry..."
"Headmistress McGonagall is dead, and Kingsley is in Azkaban. The Ministry is falling apart now that Minister Diggory is dead and... I just fought this war. I already stopped Voldemort. It should be over and done with, but it isn't! We're still fighting, still losing, and all you have to tell me is that I should have hope?"
"Yes." The words were harder now, and came with an edge that Harry had never once heard directed at him. "That is all you can have, Harry. And you are right, you did stopVoldemort . You did already fight this war. And you won it. But we are always fighting to make the world better, and just because you defeated one enemy does not mean there will never be others."
Harry sagged against the desk. He had no idea what would happen now, who would become the next Headmaster or Headmistress. With Hannigan in charge of the Ministry, it could be anyone at all. Would the school fall into the wrong hands, would it be controlled by another Dark witch or wizard? How many times would he have to fight the same evil? How many times would this happen before he could truly rest?
"And this is far more than just my war, Harry. It is your war, too."
Green eyes blinked several times in response. "Then why were you the one making all the decisions?" he asked viciously.
The portrait gave a weary sigh and ran a painted hand over his painted face. "Did you want it to be you who made the decisions?"Dumbledore asked finally.
"Yes!"
"Really?" There was a pause filled with skepticism, then Dumbledore continued, "Did you want to be the one to decide which sacrifice was necessary? I sent people on missions I knew might kill them. I sent people on errands I knew would kill them. I..." His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he said, "I knew that you might die. I hoped you would not, but I knew... as long as Voldemort's soul resided within you, he would live. But riding you of the soul could very well cost you your life. Is that a decision you would have wanted to make, Harry? To decide whether or not to risk the life of an innocent child or to risk all the lives of every decent person in the world?"
"It still... it was my life and I... I should have been the one to make... make the decision to do... to do what I needed..." Harry faltered, his words suddenly coming in short bursts of emotion. He looked at the ground, shaking his head. "You should have trusted me to do the right thing."
"Oh, Harry... I did trust you. More than you know. But I... I knew what you were facing and I wanted to spare you that until... until you had to face it." The portrait smiled sadly, regretfully. "I am sorry for everything I put you through, my dear boy. I only did what I thought was best for the world. And for you."
"I can't keep doing this," Harry muttered. "I can't... Why did you have to make everything so difficult for me? Why couldn't you just tell me the truth about the Deathly Hallows at the beginning? Or the prophesy? Or... anything? Why did you always have to speak in riddles?"
"You know why I was hesitant to tell you about the Hallows," Dumbledore answered softly. "You may not have been as tempted as I was... indeed, you likely would not have. But I... I could not take a chance that you would ruin your life the way I had ruined mine. I know what longing does... I know what the Hallows can do to a man inflamed by longing. I only tried to keep you from making my mistakes." He paused, then added, "Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps the search for the Hallows would not have torn you apart."
Unbidden, the thought of Ron's face, tightened with frustration and disappointment, and of Hermione's choking tears, rose in his mind. They had nearly fallen apart on that mission, the divisions between them becoming too much. Ron had left, and although he had returned, his brief abandonment had taken a while to forget. And how many times had he started arguments with Hermione when she refused to follow his lead and chase after fairy tales and children's stories? It had not been untilDobby's death that he had finally pulled himself back to the task before him, to the necessity of destroying the remaining Horcruxes. Like Dumbledore, it had taken the death of someone he held dear to realize he was on the wrong path.
He had no way of knowing that at that exact moment the portrait of Dumbledore was thinking that it had taken a death of the one person that Snape loved to push him back to the right path... and all three of them were far more alike than any would care to admit.
"I have made many mistakes in my long life," the portrait said, "but I have tried my best to deal with the circumstances that I was given. It is all we can ever ask of each other. I am deeply sorry for any pain I caused you, but I did what I thought was right."
"Even if it meant controlling the lives of others?" Harry retorted, although his voice was rapidly losing its heat and temper.
"Yes," Dumbledore answered simply. "Each side needs a leader who is willing to do what is necessary to win the war. I truly hope for a future in which that sort of fighting is no longer needed. But in the meantime, I was willing to make the difficult decisions so that no one else would have to. You know as well as I do that there are things far worse than death. I did not fear the end, but I hated the pain of knowingly causing others harm. my own death was easy to bear. The death of others was not."
Harry folded his arms over his chest and tried to come up with a logical argument for that. But what could he say? If he had had to make the decision between saving the world and say... saving Ginny? Ron? Hermione? What would he have done? Would he have had the strength to go through with the plan, to do what was necessary? Dying was far easier than being responsible for the death of others.
"Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living."
Harry nodded slowly. "I suppose..."
The conversation with Dumbledore's portrait had not left him with any feelings of comfort or reassurance. Instead, he walked away with more questions than answers, still troubled by all that had happened and all that would continue to happen. But, asDumbledore had said, each person had to do their best with what they were given, had to rely on the idea, the hope, that tomorrow could be better if they just fought for it. It was with those turbulent thoughts rushing through his mind that he arrived back at his empty flat.
Well, almost empty.
Ron was at the Burrow, along with Ginny and Hermione. But there, sitting on his sofa, patiently waiting for him to return home, was Draco Malfoy.