The Final Glimpse
Sirius could only shake his head as he looked upon the dangling form of Lucius Malfoy. He swayed and spun gently from the bedsheet wrapped around his neck and tied to the vent in the ceiling from the other end.
His bloodshot eyes bulged in their sockets morbidly, and his skin had taken on a purplish hue.
"There's no sign of any foul play?" Sirius asked.
"None," the guard replied. "I checked on him. He was quiet but awake. Jones checked an hour later and found him like this. No alarms were triggered, and there is no residual magic. He killed himself, Minister."
"Fucking coward," Sirius sighed irritably. "Alright, I'll have him cut down and buried."
"What should I write in my report, Minister?"
"The truth," Sirius answered. "I see no reason to report it to the media, but the report will say that Lucius Malfoy took his own life. I want one from each of you and Jones on my desk before your next shift starts. Go home, McAlister."
The Auror nodded and did as he was bid, leaving Sirius alone with the cold corpse of a man he'd always despised.
Lucius hanging himself was something of a surprise. The man's ego would not have allowed him to commit suicide unless he truly believed he had no other option.
Maybe he feared that Voldemort would come and punish him for his failure, or perhaps it was that he'd accepted there was no prospect of freedom, and he'd decided to end things on his own terms.
Either way, it didn't matter to Sirius.
Lucius was dead, and it was one less mouth to feed in the prison system.
A callous observation indeed, but one he would not dispute.
Death was too good for the likes of Malfoy, and Sirius would sooner have seen him suffer, but the dead could not be brought back. Wherever he was now, Sirius hoped it was as miserable as he'd made the lives of others and that he wouldn't be granted a moment's peace for the rest of time.
That was what Lucius deserved.
Nonetheless, he would be granted a burial.
If Sirius had his way, Malfoy would be discarded into the sea for his corpse to be feasted upon, but no, that was not his prerogative.
His responsibilities lay elsewhere, with the war, and ensuring the people of magical Britain and beyond were safe from the monsters that lurked in the night.
For now, at least.
Maybe when the war was done, he'd be able to enjoy the perks of such a powerful position.
That time, however, was not now, and he couldn't bring himself to envision that, not until he was looking upon the corpse of Lord Voldemort and those who had chosen to follow him were locked away or dead.
To Sirius, it didn't matter which, so long as they no longer exacted harm on others.
(Break)
It was strange to have his own dedicated office.
Since he'd begun teaching, he'd been using the desk in the classroom to mark the work of the first through third years. He did so after each lesson finished, a menial task but one he did not wish to pile up.
Now, however, he had his own space, and it was a rather bittersweet realisation.
Harry was no longer a student here, nor was he a child being stalked by a Dark Lord. He was a man, though he could not really pinpoint exacgly when that had happened.
Was it when he'd killed Quirrell or somewhere between then and the moment he'd turned seventeen?
For the most part, he'd always been self-sufficient since arriving in the wizarding world. Of course, he'd had Perenelle and Nicholas to turn to, but ultimately, it was Harry who had endured and overcome time and again in those moments his life was in the balance.
He shook his head.
His anger had somewhat abated in the hours that had gone by since he'd visited Lucius, but it was still there, simmering under the surface, ready to be unleashed once more.
Voldemort.
He would save it all for the man who was the cause of it. Maybe then he'd be free of it, and he could move on if he survived the encounter.
"Harry?"
"Is there something you need?"
Fleur shook her head.
"No, I'm just a little nervous," she sighed. "Any tips? You've done this before."
"You'll be fine," Harry assured her. "Just stick to what you have to teach and watch out for the students that can be a pain in the arse. You'll see who they are quickly."
Fleur nodded.
"What are you teaching first?"
"Fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins."
"That's not a bad one to start with. The Slytherins are quiet, but you might want to keep an eye on some of the Gryffindors. There are a few pranksters among them. I'll be in here if you need me."
"Thank you," Fleur offered appreciatively, closing the door behind her as she left the office.
Alone again, Harry took a seat in his chair and spun it around, grinning.
It was something he'd seen on a TV show once when the Dursleys forgot to shut the vent on the door to his cupboard.
He frowned at the thought.
How things had changed since those days, and not entirely for the better.
At least back then, he only needed to worry about being insulted, ensuring his chores for the day were complete, and avoiding Dudley and his gang. Now, he was being pursued by numerous murders, one of them the very same that had killed his parents.
His expression darkened once more.
Running from this as he had Dudley had never been an option for him, and though Voldemort was terrifying to most, Harry found he no longer feared the man.
His final encounter with Tom represented something Harry had become so familiar with over the years that the outcome truly did not matter to him as much as it probably should.
Death truly was little more than the end of one journey and the gate to eternal peace.
He liked the sound of that, but he was not quite ready to enjoy it yet.
There was much he wished to do here before such bliss, but first, he needed to be rid of the Dark Lord and the prophecy that hung over him.
Nodding to himself, he leaned back in the chair and gazed towards the ceiling, cursing his fate but equally embracing it for the first time.
Voldemort was his to kill, and Harry would have it no other way, not after all the man had done to him and his family.
(Break)
Cedric didn't believe he'd ever felt more nervous as he stood at the front door of the Tonks family, not even when he'd faced the dragon, unprepared, during the first task of the tournament.
When he'd mentioned that he and Nymphadora would have to tell her parents, and his own, of the pregnancy, he'd not expected to be doing so less than twenty-four hours later.
Nymphadora, however, had insisted. She didn't wish to keep it from her mother any longer.
'It will be better the sooner we tell her.'
Cedric disagreed.
He was still planning their escape to Japan in his mind, not confronting one of the members of the infamous Black family.
"Come in," Tonks said nervously, seemingly relieved to see him as she opened the door.
Cedric crossed the threshold into the home.
It wasn't lavish by any stretch, but it was clear that the Tonks family was not poor. From what he knew, Ted Tonks was a lawyer, and his wife worked with him.
"Are those for me?" Nymphadora asked, gesturing towards the flowers Cedric held.
"For your mother," he murmured.
Tonks shook her head.
"I don't think a bunch of flowers is going to stop her from killing us."
"Japan is still an option."
Nymphadora rolled her eyes and gestured for him to follow.
He did so, and they were greeted by a man an inch or so shorter than Cedric, middle-aged and with a slight paunch.
"You must be Cedric," Ted Tonks said warmly, offering his hand.
Cedric accepted it and nodded.
"It is nice to meet you, Mr Tonks."
"Mr Tonks? Call me Ted. I never was one for formalities. Come, take a seat, Andromeda will join us shortly.
Cedric placed the flowers on the table as he did so, the nervousness returning despite Ted Tonks's kindly nature. In truth, it wasn't the man that concerned him; it was the woman that entered only a moment later that did.
Were it not for the knowledge that Bellatrix Lestrange's current location was unknown, Cedric would have sworn she just walked into the kitchen.
Nymphadora had not told him of the resemblance, and he suspected she'd either done it intentionally or did not want to draw attention to it. Cedric shot her a brief look before standing to greet the woman.
"Well, a young man with manners," Andromeda declared interestedly, offering her hand.
She did not do so for it to be shaken, and Cedric brushed his lips across her knuckles, receiving a nod of approval.
"Kiss-arse," Nymphadora muttered amusedly.
"Whatever keeps my head on my shoulders," Cedric returned quietly as Andromeda took her seat.
She was considered to be the most approachable of the trio of sisters, though Cedric could not see how any reached that conclusion. Maybe it was the uncanny likeness to Bellatrix that had thrown him, but behind the eyes of Andromeda Tonks was that same sense of danger he saw in Sirius Black, and even Narcissa Malfoy during the times he'd met her at functions over the years.
"Now, before we have dinner, I think you should come out and say whatever it is you intend to," Andromeda urged. "I'd rather not share an awkward meal when it can be avoided. Nymphadora?" she pressed.
Cedric had never seen the Auror so nervous as she was with her mother, waiting for an answer.
When she could not find the words, Andromeda hummed.
"Your silence tells me all I need to know."
"What is it?" Ted asked confusedly.
"It seems as though our daughter is either getting married or we are going to be grandparents. I would er more towards the latter because Mr Diggory here does not strike me as the kind of young man to propose without seeking approval. It is not as though he is going to ask us if he can fornicate with Nymphadora, is it?"
Cedric had frozen, and Ted Tonks grimaced as his wife finished speaking.
"I do not want to hear that," the man groaned. "Wait, she's pregnant?"
Andromeda hummed once more, her expression unreadable.
Ted simply didn't know how to react.
Cedric wasn't sure if the man would whoop with joy or lunge across the table to throttle him.
"Grandparents," Ted murmured.
'Nymphadora?" Andromeda pressed again.
Tonks nodded.
"Pregnant," she said simply.
"And what do you intend to do?"
Tonks shrugged.
"I don't know," she sighed. "I only just told Cedric last night."
Andromeda's gaze drifted towards him.
"Whatever needs to be done," he answered immediately, earning his second nod of approval.
"Good," Andromeda declared. "The first thing you need to do is tell Sirius. I expect he will see that you are signed off work."
"I don't need to stop working!"
"You are pregnant, and there is a war on," Andromeda said firmly. "Your priority is the safety of that baby. You cannot go gallivanting as you do whilst you are expecting a baby."
"Your mother is right," Ted sighed.
Cedric said nothing, but he agreed with them.
"Fine," Tonks agreed reluctantly. "I will speak with Sirius tomorrow."
"And I suppose we should tell my parents," Cedric added.
Tonks nodded.
"Are they going to be furious?"
"I don't expect they'll be thrilled," he murmured. "I think they intended on seeing me married first, but they'll get over it."
"And what of marriage?" Andromeda broke in. "Do you intend on marrying?"
"She won't have me," Cedric sighed.
"I never said that!" Tonks denied.
"It was the way you made me feel," Cedric returned with a pout, eliciting a chuckle from Ted.
"You should think yourself lucky," the man snorted. "The moment Andi knew she was pregnant, I was marched to the Ministry to register for our marriage. You know, I don't think I ever actually agreed, proposed, or was asked," he added thoughtfully.
"You said the vows, Ted," Andromeda reminded him. "That's all that matters."
He beamed as he nodded.
"And I've not regretted it for a second," he said sincerely.
Andromeda smiled for the first time, and Cedric breathed a sigh of relief.
Maybe the woman wouldn't kill him after all.
(Break)
'Lily, it's him! Quick, get Harry and get out!'
'James, I…'
'Go!' James urged. 'I'll hold him off.'
The smile he offered was one of acceptance, and James Potter looked upon his son for what would be the final time. He knew it, could feel it down to the very core that these would be his last moments.
Was he angry? Yes. Voldemort finding them meant that either Peter had been caught or had given them up willingly.
He didn't know which, and right now, he didn't care.
His only priority was giving Lily and Harry a chance to escape, and he knew it was a slim chance as he felt the protections fail around him and new ones took their place.
Already, his wand was in hand as the front door was blasted into splinters and he immediately banished them back towards the intruder.
Voldemort.
James had no doubt that it was the Dark Lord himself who had come for them, but seeing him in the doorway of his home and the realisation of what he faced was not lost on him.
'Potter,' Voldemort greeted him, having deflected the James's attack effortlessly. 'Hand the boy over and I will let you live.'
James's grip tightened around his wand.
'Did you really expect me to agree to that?'
The Dark Lord chuckled as he shook his head.
'No,' he answered, 'but it is always amusing to hear a fool's defiance.'
James nodded, his nostrils flaring as he whipped his wand upwards, his spell slamming into a shield that had been conjured in the time it had taken him to blink.
The Dark Lord was fast, impossibly so, and James only just managed to rebuff the rebuttal, the force of the magic sending him backwards until he collided with the wall, knocking the wind out of him.
Nonetheless, he did not hesitate in banishing the sofa towards Voldemort to buy himself some time, only to see it reduce to splinters whilst it was mid-air, the shards of wood and upholstery concealing the next offering.
He turned away, though not quickly enough, and the spell that grazed his arm was enough to pull it from its socket.
'AVADA KEDAVRA!' Voldemort cried triumphantly.
James could only look on at the green spell careened towards him, his final thoughts a prayer to any that would hear his plea that his wife, son, and unborn child had managed to escape.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he was pulled from the vision.
He'd not been prepared for it, though he knew it was coming.
Seeing his father's life end was not as traumatic as he'd expected, but the pride he felt for James Potter was.
He'd seen what the man was capable of during his various skirmishes with the Death Eaters, and he was an exceedingly gifted wizard. Nonetheless, James had lived a life of privilege, was doted upon by his parents, and had not overcome the adversity he'd needed to be experienced enough to face Tom.
Wiping the tears away, he took a seat at the foot of his bed, ruminating on what he'd seen.
He knew what had come after, and it would be almost ten years later that the cloak would come into his possession.
It was done.
He'd experienced the life and deaths of every man of his bloodline who'd had the pleasure of owning the cloak, the ups and downs of each, and now, the fabled garment was absorbing his own memories as he lived them.
Harry snorted.
It was simply his turn.
Perhaps one day, one of his descendants would be given the opportunity to look upon his life the same way Harry had his ancestors.
For now, however, his focus was on ensuring his death at the hand of Voldemort would not follow his father's.
Harry was exhausted.
For the better part of six years, he'd experienced more lives than he cared to count. From Ignotus Peverell to James Potter, he could not put into words what he'd learned from them all, how each man whose life he'd shared had shaped him into the man he was becoming.
To Harry, the lessons were invaluable, and now that the memories were seemingly over, he felt almost lost, as though now, it was his responsibility to take all he'd been shown and allow it to guide him towards victory.
"Come Death, come," he murmured tiredly, still unsure if he was ready to face what was coming.
He wanted it more than anything else, wanted Tom Riddle to suffer at his hands for all he'd done to Harry and to ultimately live so that his parents' lives had not been given in vain.
"You question whether you are able to defeat him."
The gravelly voice pulled him from his thoughts, and Harry looked up to be faced by the very same cloaked figure he'd been introduced to in the first memory the cloak had shown him.
"Shouldn't I?" he returned.
"Yes," the figure answered simply. "Fate decreed that you shall face one another, but not the outcome of your final meeting. You have seen him, Harry Potter, have fought him, and yet, you still remain uncertain."
"Because it is uncertain," Harry pointed out. "If I can't kill him, he wins."
"If you don't kill him, there are others that can. Fate will no longer tie him to you, and without the prophecy, he is vulnerable to all."
"Is he?" Harry snorted. "Only Dumbledore is the other willing to face him."
"Then you must win," Death replied.
"You make it sound so easy."
"Not easy, but not impossible. See for yourself."
Harry frowned as the figure raised its arms; dozens of orbs appeared in front of him. Within each, a scene was playing out in which two wizards were fighting. Harry recognised Voldemort's familiar visage in all, some as the man he knew today; pale, snakelike, and red-eyed.
In others, he appeared to be more human.
"Are they all me?" Harry whispered in disbelief as he recognised the other in all of the orbs.
Death nodded.
In some, Harry barely recognised himself. His age and appearance varied from being a young man all the way to something of an elderly one.
"What is this?" he asked confusedly.
"There are many planes of existence, many instances in which you and Tom Riddle are tied together by the words of Fate. The story is never the same, and yours is only one iteration of it."
"Are you talking about multiple universes?"
"And timelines," Death confirmed. "See, this is you some thirty years ago fighting Tom Riddle, and again a decade or so ago."
Harry looked at the orbs the figure had gestured to.
In them, it was unmistakably him and Voldemort, though the settings were different, and even Harry scarcely recognised himself.
"All stories told, and many yet to come," Death continued. "In some, I am present, and in others, I am not. The formula is very much the same for you, and if you look upon these, you will see that victory is indeed possible."
Harry did so and watched another version of himself killing Voldemort in what appeared to be the Ministry of Magic.
"Harry Evans," Death spoke once more. "In this one, you used your mother's name and even killed Gellert Grindelwald before the inevitable fateful meeting between you and Tom Riddle."
"Grindelwald?" Harry said in disbelief.
"Why would I lie?"
Harry could only shake his head as he watched other battles unfold around him.
"What is this one?" he asked curiously, pointing towards another. "That's not Voldemort."
"No, that is Salazar Slytherin. This exists in a timeline where your fate was intruded upon by another being. Here, you were taken to the birth of Hogwarts."
"Unbelievable," Harry whispered.
"But not the strangest of instances," Death pointed out, gesturing to the rest of the orbs.
There were simply too many for Harry to focus on, and they vanished only a moment later, much to his chagrin.
"Each of them depicts your victory against Tom Riddle in one way or another. It would serve no purpose for you to peruse them. The story you are embodying, Harry Potter, is the one that requires your focus. Can you defeat him? The answer to that is a resounding yes because you already have and will again more times than I care to count."
Oddly, the words of the figure brought Harry some comfort, and he nodded resolutely.
"You are my chosen, Harry Potter," Death reminded him. "I expect to harvest your soul only when it has lived a full life, the joys and sorrows of every man."
With that, the figure was gone, and much of the self-doubt that had instilled itself within Harry at seeing his father killed so easily evaporated.
Nonetheless, it was still there, and Harry decided that it was perhaps a good thing. He did not wish to become arrogant or complacent, nor did he wish to believe that his victory was inevitable.
All that was promised was that he and Tom would meet, and one would die at the hands of the other.
With that in mind, he took a calming breath to centre himself, though it was not so simple to be rid of all that was playing on his mind. His journey through the memories had come to an end, and all that was left was to come to terms with the seemingly unending emotions he'd experienced from them all.
The horror, joy, heartache, and heartbreak.
Harry was only seventeen but had lived full lives vicariously, and others that had been cut tragically short.
How he'd coped with it all, he didn't know, and even now, he couldn't either contextualise what he'd experienced.
(Break)
'I am relying on you, Severus. The snake must be destroyed.'
"And I find myself putting my faith in a boy, Headmaster,' Severus returned. 'The Dark Lord is like no other I have met. You may be willing to believe in Potter, but I cannot, not in the same way.'
'Then put your faith in me as you have for the past fifteen years. To doubt Harry is only to doubt me.'
Severus met Dumbledore's gaze, looking for any sign of uncertainty.
'You truly believe Potter can do it.'
'I do," Albus confirmed. 'You still see him as the son of James and Lily Potter. There is denying he has the best of his parents within him, Severus, but he is so much more. Like you, he has been shaped by experiences most would crumble from. Think of each of them, of what you know of both. They are so eerily similar.'
'They are,' Severus agreed. 'Potter could be just like him one day.'
'No,' Dumbledore denied. 'The similarities cannot be ignored, but it is their differences that sets them apart. Tom wants power, to crush the world beneath his heel, to watch it burn around him if necessary. Harry wants only peace for himself, to hide from the world that has been nothing but cruel to him. That is the difference between them, Severus, and that is what truly separates them. Tom Riddle is a monster of his own design…'
'And Potter because he needs to be,' Severus finished tiredly.
'You know me too well.'
'Well enough to know what you are going to ask of me. I will kill the snake, but then I will be free of all of this. My conscience will be clear.'
'Will it?'
'No,' Severus murmured. 'It will never be clear of what I have done, but I would have done all I can to see it rectified. Whether that is enough or not remains to be seen, but I expect to carry it with me for the rest of my days.;
'We each carry something we would be rid of, but ask yourself, where would you be now without that guilt? I expect dead or worse. What say you?'
Severus nodded.
'I say that as ever, you are likely correct.'
He looked upon where the house was supposed to be, though it was no longer visible to him. Somewhere within the Dark Lord's protections, the man plotted, and where the Dark Lord plotted, Nagini was not far away.
Peering down at the leather brace covered in Runes Albus had created for him, Severus released a deep breath.
For the first time in almost twenty years, the Dark Lord could not find him through the mark. To the man he'd once served, Severus was lost to him.
With a nod, he removed his omnioculars from within the small bag he carried and took another sip of Polyjuice Potion. To any passer-by, he was a simple birdwatcher, visiting the area in search of rare, local species.
In truth, Severus Snape was seeking a more dangerous foe, and he could only hope that under his current guise, he, as the hunter, did not become the hunted.
He would have no explanation as to why he wasn't in prison.
To the rest of the world, and even the Dark Lord, he was a traitor, and to be caught now would undoubtedly mean his death.
(Break)
"It's peaceful here," Harry murmured as he looked towards the horizon.
The sun would be rising soon, and Isabella nodded.
"It is," she agreed.
She didn't know when he'd arrived. She'd woken in the night and had spotted him from her bedroom window. Recognising his familiar silhouette, she'd debated whether or not he'd come for a specific reason, and having decided to approach him, Isabella could not ignore just how depleted he looked.
Physically, he seemed to be as well as ever, but one look in his eyes was all she needed to see how emotionally drained he was.
Isabella had waited for him to speak, and after more than an hour, commenting on the serenity of the island was the first thing he'd uttered.
"I don't suppose you see it the same way as me," he chuckled humourlessly.
"How do you see it?"
"Freedom," he answered quietly. "This will be where I'll come when this is all over, and I want to be free."
"You're not free?"
He grimaced at the question.
"No."
"I don't think I understand," Isabella said apologetically.
"I'm being obtuse," Harry sighed. "I don't know. A lot has happened that no one knows about."
"Like what?"
He turned towards her and smirked, though it lacked the playfulness she often saw in his expression.
"I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them."
Isabella quirked an eyebrow at him.
"Harry, the first time we met, you were in an underground duelling pit, fighting and beating adult wizards when you were fourteen. You've done things that would have killed most people and even took a giant down with a sword."
"You make it sound crazy."
"It is crazy!" Isabella huffed. "What's worse is that you don't know how insane any of the things you do is. I don't think there's anything you could tell me that I wouldn't believe."
Harry looked at her challengingly, and Isabella returned it in equal measures.
"Alright," he murmured.
She watched as he looked towards his sleeve and took a step back as the head of an undoubtedly venomous snake appeared. That had been shocking enough, but as he began hissing at it, her eyes widened in disbelief.
"See," he snorted.
Isabella fumbled over her words for a moment before shaking her head.
"You're a Slytherin," she whispered. "I don't understand. The Potter family…"
"My mother," Harry said with a fond smile. "She was a descendant from centuries ago."
Isabella frowned.
"Mallory Gaunt," Harry continued. "She was Salazar's granddaughter who had a child with one of my ancestors. Mallory died during childbirth, so no one ever knew the child existed. Their daughter, Carys, married a muggle named John Evans, and they moved to the east of England."
"Lily Evans," Isabella said in realisation.
Harry nodded.
"How did you discover this?" Isabella asked curiously. "Magical genealogists have perfectly mapped out the Slytherin bloodline. There's no mention of that."
"The answer to that is even more unbelievable than me being a descendant of Slytherin," Harry snorted.
"Try me," Isabella urged.
He seemed somehow unburdened when he'd spoken of his mother, something he'd never done before, not with her, at least.
"I learned of it from a vision."
"You're a seer?"
"No, nothing like that," Harry chuckled. "When I was eleven, I received a family heirloom that has been passed down through the generations from a thousand years ago. Ever since then, I've been shown the lives of every other who has possessed it."
"An heirloom?"
"An heirloom," Harry confirmed, not elaborating further. "At first, I thought the visions were dreams of some kind, but I quickly realised they weren't. I was living the lives of these people, sharing their experiences and all the emotions that came with them. I've seen them born and die, get married, have children, and everything in between. It was hard at first feeling all of these things that I didn't understand. I can't really say I've ever gotten used to it."
"How many lives have you witnessed?"
"Dozens," Harry answered, "all of my forebears up until the heirloom was gifted to the man where it all began."
"I can't think of any magical item that is capable of that," Isabella murmured. "Even a pensieve has its limits, and though that, you experience memories, not feel emotions of who the memory belonged to."
"The heirloom takes pieces of whoever owns it," Harry explained. "I think that's how it works."
"So, every Potter in the last thousand years has experienced the same?"
Harry shook his head.
"Just me," he said tiredly. "It's all happened to me."
"Why you?"
Harry shrugged.
"Because Fate decided it was going to be me," he snorted. "I'm no seer, but that type of magic has played a part in my life. I am what I am because of it, in some ways."
"I don't understand," Isabella replied confusedly.
Harry offered her a sad smile.
"Have you ever wondered why Voldemort came for my family?"
"I suppose it was because your father refused to join him."
"No," Harry denied. "He didn't come for my mother and father; he came for me."
"For you?" Isabella scoffed. "Harry, you were just a baby. Why would he come after you?"
He removed a glass ball from within his trunk and tapped it with his wand. Upon doing so, an eerie voice spoke.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...and the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal but he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not... For neither can live while the other survives..."
"What is that thing?"
"A prophecy," Harry explained. "Voldemort heard half of it and came for me," he added, gesturing to the faded scar above his brow.
"The Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal," Isabella whispered.
"He did," Harry returned with a shrug. "I didn't want to believe in it, but it's real. I retrieved it from the Department of Mysteries myself."
"Oh, Harry," Isabella groaned, taking his hand.
"It was made before I was born but has been in the works for centuries. I don't suppose it really means much to me, not as it does him. He came for me because of it, and I want him dead for what he has done to me."
Isabella could only nod her understanding, even if she felt as lost as Harry had looked when she'd first approached him.
She wiped away an errant tear as it broke free. She may not be able to comprehend all of what Harry had told her, but she could see just what it had done to him since before he could even talk.
"Why are you crying?" he asked he asked confusedly.
"Because you've been dealing with all of this on your own, Harry. Haven't you told anyone about this?"
He shook his head.
"It's not something you bring up, is it?"
Isabella shook her head.
She'd always thought Harry was remarkable, at first for being a fool for attending the duelling pit in disguise, but now, she understood why he'd done so. He needed to be ready, and with no one to turn to, he'd done what he'd felt was necessary.
It was strange to see him as she did now.
He'd always been strong, even when she'd tended to his gruesome injuries, he'd never batted an eyelid.
In truth, she couldn't fathom how much strength he'd had to develop and show over the years to experience what he had and still be the person he was today.
If anything, it only made her admire him more, and as he looked towards her, almost for some kind of validation, she wrapped her arms around him tightly.
"What's that for?" he asked.
Isabella shrugged.
"I don't know what to say about any of this," she admitted. "It seemed like the best thing to do."
Harry laughed heartily as he returned the embrace.
"If it helps, I don't know either," he replied. "It all seems so surreal when I think about it like it is all happening to someone else. I don't know what I'm doing. It just seems I've fumbled my way through one thing after another as they've come or done something monumentally stupid that somehow worked."
"Hasn't it?" Isabella questioned. "You're still alive, Harry. Against the odds, you've made it through all of it."
"So far," he sighed. "One day, one of those stupid things will get me killed."
"I don't believe that," Isabella denied. "I think if you were going to die, he would have gotten you by now."
"Well, at least someone has faith in me."
"After all I've seen you do and come through, it's hard not to."
Harry offered her a smile as he looked towards the rising sun once sun.
"It's nice here," he murmured. "I'd like to enjoy it more if I live through this."
"Won't you get lonely?"
Harry shook his head.
"I spent most of my life being lonely. I got used to it."
Isabella felt her chest tighten at that.
"You're not lonely, Harry," she assured him. "No matter what happens, I won't let you be. If you wanted to, you could just leave it all behind, you know."
"I've thought about it," Harry admitted.
"But you can't," Isabella sighed.
"I can't," Harry agreed. "It is our destiny to meet and for one of us to kill the other. You heard the prophecy."
"I did," Isabella replied as she took his hand once more. "So, what else are you going to do when it's over? The sun only rises and sets for a small part of each day."
"I'm sure I will find something to occupy my time," he replied with a grin.
"Teaching?"
He shook his head.
"I enjoy it, and maybe one day I might consider it. Maybe I'd like to see the world a little and maybe play Quidditch."
"That's a lot of maybes," Isabella pointed out.
"There's a lot of uncertainty."
His words sobered her, and she said nothing else, choosing to simply enjoy that his countenance had relaxed considerably from when he'd arrived.
In this moment, he seemed to be simply enjoying some of that peace he was looking forward to, and Isabella couldn't deny that seeing him so blissful was all she could ever want for Harry.
After some time, however, he deflated and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
"I have to go."
"Now?"
He nodded reluctantly.
"Voldemort might not be around, but the war isn't on hold. There's something I have to do."
"Something dangerous and stupid?"
"You know me so well," he chuckled. "The giants. I have to deal with the giants."
Isabella frowned as she tightened her grip on him.
"You think it will all be over soon, don't you?"
"Sooner rather than later," Harry sighed. "I can feel it. It's as though everything is finally coming full circle. He will soon become desperate, and when he does, he will want to end it."
"And you're ready?"
"I don't know," Harry answered honestly. "I don't know."