Author's Note: Merry Christmas, and a Festive Yule to all who celebrate! To make up for my delayed update, I am posting two chapters today. Of course, this will bring us to the end of Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts, and who can say what the future will bring? For now, I hope you enjoy the chapters, and I hope to see you all again for year seven!
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Four - Lament of the Phoenix
Harry wasn't sure how long he stood there, leaning on his friends for comfort. It could have been mere seconds, several minutes, or even hours. In any case, it seemed too short a time before Hagrid spoke to them, his voice thick from the tears he let flow freely down his cheeks and into his beard, "Harry… Yeh shouldn' stay here. C'mon, now…"
Harry shook his head, holding tighter to Blaise and Millie, even as he felt them gently pulling away, heeding Hagrid's advice.
"He's right, Harry," said Millie. "We should go to the Hospital Wing."
"I'm not hurt," said Harry hollowly. Physically, this was true. He wasn't injured. But emotionally, he was a wreck. The crowd around Dumbledore's body was growing. Some were crying, a few even screamed. Harry didn't want to be there, but a trip to the Hospital Wing was another trial he was not ready to face. He couldn't bear the thought of Madam Pomfrey fussing over him. Didn't want to answer any questions about where he and Dumbledore had gone, what they had been doing, what had happened at the top of the astronomy tower…
Hagrid's large hand rested heavily on his shoulder, trembling as he tried to guide Harry toward the front entrance of the school. But Harry was stubborn. If they wanted to move him, they would have to drag him…
That was, until a small, cool hand slipped into his own, and an airy voice spoke into his ear, "Let's go, Harry."
Harry obeyed the soft pressure of this hand with more ease than he would have bent under the weight of Hagrid's. It wasn't until they were in the entrance hall, halfway up the marble staircase, that he realized who was guiding him.
"Luna…" he asked, "What are you doing here?"
"I called the Marauders when the fighting started," Millie explained. Harry turned his head and saw that she held something in her hand. She held it up for his inspection, and he recognized one of the faux galleons Hermione had crafted for their secret club the year before.
Luna nodded her head and added, "Eleanor had hers in her pocket when it started to go hot. When she went running out of our room, I followed her."
"Where is Nell?" Harry asked, a sense of panic once again piercing through the melancholy fog of his mind.
"Hospital Wing," Blaise said before Harry could spiral further into anxiety. "She's alright. It's McGonagall's orders. Everyone's waiting there."
This news should have brought him comfort, but Harry was hardly satisfied. He thought of the body he had tripped over in the hall, the pool of blood on the floor. Terrified of what their answer might be, he started to ask, "Who else has been…?"
He couldn't bring himself to complete the question. He didn't need to. Luna instantly replied, "None of ours."
Harry was grateful for her prompt and succinct responses. Luna could be a little dreamy at times, but when it mattered most, she was surprisingly practical. It was exactly what he needed at the moment, and he pressed the hand that still held on to his in thanks.
They reached the hospital wing. Blaise hurried forward to open the doors. There were his friends, Nell, Neville, and Hermione, each lying, apparently asleep, in beds nearest the entrance. At the far end of the ward, Ron and Ginny Weasley sat, looking very grave, at the bedside of a person whose face was entirely obscured by bloodied bandages. Harry was surprised to see Draco standing behind Ginny, his hands resting on her shoulders. It seemed that in the midst of the battle, Ron had put aside his anger over their relationship.
Harry tore his gaze away from the bloody figure in the bed as Madam Pomfrey bent to check the bandages. Instead, his attention was drawn to Remus and Mrs. Zabini, who were standing beside yet another figure, who was reclining against the pillows of her own bed. With her hair a mousy brown, Harry almost didn't recognize Tonks. Her face was turned away from him, staring with anxiety at the figure now behind tended by Madam Pomfrey.
At the sound of Harry's entrance, Tonk's head snapped around, as though startled by even the commonplace creak of the doors. For a moment, everyone stared at him, then Mrs. Zabini rushed forward, wrapping an arm around Blaise and Harry's shoulder as she drew them close.
"Boys… My boys…" she murmured into their hair as she pressed her lips to each of their heads in turn.
Remus patted Tonks gently on the shoulder before he too approached Harry, looking at him with tired, worried eyes.
"Harry, are you alright?"
"Fine," lied Harry, looking past Remus at the figure in the furthest bed.
Remus read the question on his face and said in a low voice, "Bill Weasley. He was attacked… by Fenrir Greyback."
At once Harry understood the somber expressions on Ron and Ginny's faces. He took a closer look at the figure in the bed, the bloody bandages now removed, and saw a face he didn't recognize. Bill had been so badly slashed and and torn, he resembled nothing so much as a cheap Halloween mask. Madam Pomfrey was at work dabbing a green ointment on the wounds, then replacing the bandages as best she could.
"But it's not a full moon," Harry observed, "Greyback hadn't transformed… Surely Bill won't be…"
He hesitated, looking at Remus for confirmation. To his relief, Remus nodded his head, "No, I don't think Bill will become a werewolf. There may be some contamination, some side effects… Those wounds are unlikely to ever fully heal. Certainly there will be scarring… And I expect he'll have some wolfish tendencies from now on. But that's all."
"But Harry, where were you?" Mrs. Zabini interjected, one of her hands resting on his shoulder, as though afraid if she let him go, he would disappear from her sight. "When we first arrived, I came to get you and Blaise, but…"
"I told her you had detention with Snape," said Blaise, "But that had ended hours ago, and I wasn't sure where you had gone. Then Draco said… Draco mentioned that Dumbledore had given him a note for you?"
"Dumbledore?" repeated Remus, in some confusion, "But what would he want with Harry?"
The time had come. Harry lowered his eyes, unable to repeat the lie he had promised to tell. He didn't know how Snape expected him to do this, not just once, but over and over again. How could he live with the guilt of what he had done, keeping it a secret from those he loved, and yet fearful of what they would do if they knew the truth?
Fortunately, he didn't need to utter another word. He had Millie by his side. Before Harry could open his mouth, she was already announcing, in a voice loud enough for the entire Hospital Wing to hear, "Dumbledore is dead."
"No!" exclaimed Tonks from her bed, turning her face away from Bill to stare at Harry with shock and horror. "That's impossible!"
"It's true," said Millie gravely, "Harry was there. He saw it happen."
"How?" whispered Remus.
His eyes were on Harry, but it was Millie who answered again, "It was Snape. Snape killed him."
Madam Pomfrey let out a gasp, and Draco's face turned a ghastly white as they listened. Remus merely stared, then uttered in a hollow voice, "I don't believe it."
"Remus…" said Mrs. Zabini, placing a hand on his arm.
Remus shook her away as he repeated, "No… No, I don't believe it. Harry, what happened?"
Harry could imagine what Remus was thinking. He had listened when others told him that Sirius Black was a murderer. That the proof was incontrovertible. He had spent thirteen years believing that falsehood, only to have that refuted. It was natural for him to be incredulous now, to require some evidence.
Harry wanted to tell him the truth. He wanted to confess everything. He could explain that Dumbledore was cursed, already dying… But then he remembered Snape's words. Harry was the Chosen One. A symbol for good. What would Remus think of him if he confessed? Would Mrs. Zabini abandon him? Would he be sent to Azkaban?
Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, took a breath, and said, "Millie's right. I was there. I saw it. We… Dumbledore and I… we followed the Dark Mark to the top of the astronomy tower. We thought someone had been hurt. Dumbledore told me to hide under my cloak. I was supposed to go for help,but then we heard running on the stairs. Dumbledore immobilized me, then Goyle came through the trapdoor…"
Draco groaned, and Ron rose from his seat, a look of outrage on his face.
"More Death Eaters arrived," Harry continued, "Then Snape. And then… Then it happened. The Killing Curse."
Harry did not trust himself with a complete falsehood, not in front of Remus. So he had told a carefully curated version of the truth, never actually stating that it was Snape who cast the fatal spell, and trusting that the others would come to their own conclusions.
His strategies seemed effective enough, for Madam Pomfrey burst into tears. Ginny hurried around the side of the bed, both to comfort her and to hush her sobs as she said, "Shh! Listen!"
A strange sound floated across the night air. It was musical, but unlike any song Harry had ever heard. The notes were soft, but piercing. A stricken lament of terrible beauty. Harry felt as though the music were coming from inside of him. It was his own grief, turned magically into a song that echoed across the grounds and through the castle windows for all to hear.
He knew it was Fawkes, the phoenix that had belonged to Dumbledore. The song was a funeral ode to his lost master. Harry's guilt should have been doubled by the knowledge that he was the one to blame for this awful, beautiful, tragic song. But strangely, the ethereal melody helped to ease his pain. The tight feeling in his chest loosened just a little, and the tears he thought would never cease dried on his cheeks.
The song continued as the hospital doors opened once more, this time admitting Professor McGonagall. Like the others, she bore marks from the recent battle. Her robes were ripped, and there were grazes on her heavily lined face, made more apparent by the dust that had settled on her skin.
"Molly is on her way," she said to Ron and Ginny, who broke out of the trance the phoenix song had placed them under. While they turned back toward their brother, Professor McGonagall directed her attention to Harry. There was not a hint of fatigue nor a tremor in her voice as she demanded, "Potter, what happened? According to Hagrid, you were with Professor Dumbledore when he… When it happened. He said something about Professor Snape…"
"Snape killed Dumbledore," Millie stated.
Professor McGonagall stared at her for a moment, then swayed alarmingly. Mrs. Zabini drew her wand, conjuring a chair from thin air, which she pushed under the professor to keep her from collapsing to the floor.
"Snape?" repeated McGonagall faintly. "But he… He's the one who reported that Death Eaters had infiltrated the castle. He told me to summon the Order. Why would he…?"
"Dumbledore trusted him!" shouted Tonks, sitting up in her bed, "He swore he was on our side!"
"He was a highly accomplished Occlumens," insinuated Mrs. Zabini.
"No…" Remus said again, his eyes still on Harry, as though begging him to contradict what he was hearing.
"I saw him during the battle!" interjected Ron before Remus could stay more. "He was firing spells at us... At his students!"
This was true, but Ron had misinterpreted Snape's actions. Harry understood him better. What Ron saw as an attack had merely been Snape's way of removing the children from the fight, taking them out of harm's way while preventing them from following the retreating Death Eaters.
Snape had played his role of double agent beautifully. Anyone who had ever doubted his allegiance to Dumbledore turned on him now. Harry listened as they pieced together his actions that night, interpreting every expression, every word, every action into evil, as though Snape had been determined to kill Dumbledore since the beginning of his work with the Order.
Harry couldn't say a word. He had promised Snape. Only Remus seemed disposed toward doubt. He sank into the nearest chair, unwilling to believe what the others were saying. Mrs. Zabini extended her hand to comfort him, and this time, he didn't pull away. He closed his eyes as he leaned into her touch, and Harry found himself glancing instinctively toward Blaise, wondering if he, too, had noticed this slight gesture.
He then thought of Tonks, but her attention was devoted to Bill, who had begun to stir in his bed. The doors to the hospital wing burst open the next moment, and Mrs. Weasley flew into the room, her red hair windswept and her face ashen beneath her freckles.
"Molly," said Professor McGonagall, jumping up as she hurried to meet her. "I'm so sorry…"
"Ron! Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley interrupted, pushing past the professor as she hurried toward her children, "Thank goodness you're not hurt… Your brother, is he…?"
She froze. Her gaze had just fallen on her eldest son, the bandages already soaked through and doing a poor job of hiding the marks on his face.
"Molly, I'm sorry…" Tonks said, her expression crumpling with grief. "It's my fault… Greyback took me by surprise, but then Bill… If he hadn't intervened, Molly…"
"Hush now, dear," said Mrs. Weasley in a tender murmur to Tonks. "Bill knew the danger when he joined the Order. He… I'm sure he'd never forgive himself if he let anything happen to you. He was always so brave…"
Mrs. Weasley leaned over her son, pressing her lips against his bloody forehead. She was surprisingly calm when she straightened up once more, looking at the other members of the Order for explanation.
"You say that Greyback did this? What does that mean? Will Bill be…?"
She looked helplessly at Lupin, who had mastered his emotions enough to rise from his chair and draw closer to her.
"There will probably be some side-effects," he said, "It's an odd case. Possibly unique. I don't believe he'll transform, but it's hard to know what his behavior might look like when he wakes…"
Bill stirred again, and Mrs. Weasley jumped to his side in a moment, picking up the ointment Madam Pomfrey had left on the bedside, and gently dabbing at his face. Bill's eyes fluttered open at her touch. He ran his tongue over dry and cracked lips. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and faint.
"Tonks…?" he said questioningly. "Is she…?"
"I'm here, Bill," Tonks said promptly, throwing her legs over the side of her bed to lean forward where he could see her. Madam Pomfrey made a noise of disapproval, but did not attempt to force her back against the pillows.
"How you holding up?" Bill rasped.
Tonks let out a hysterical giggle and dashed a tear away from her eyes, "You're asking me? Bill, if it hadn't been for you, I…"
"Don't mention it," said Bill with a slight sigh. "You'd've done the same for me."
While Tonks and Mrs. Weasley continued to speak with Bill, another visitor arrived. Hagrid, who had remained behind while Luna led Harry to the hospital wing, came shuffling into the room. The little of his face that was not obscured by his beard was soaked and swollen from crying. In his hand he held a vast, spotted handkerchief.
"I've done it, Professor," he choked, addressing McGonagall, "I've m-moved him. Professor Sprout's got the kids back in bed, Professor Flitwick's sendin' notices out to all parents, an' Professor Slughorn says the Ministry's been informed."
"Thank you, Hagrid," said Professor McGonagall, turning to the group that had formed around Bill's bed. "I shall have to see the Minister when he gets here. Hagrid, please tell the Heads of Houses… Slughorn can represent Slytherin… That I want to see them in Professor… In my office at once. And Hagrid, I would like you to join us, too."
Hagrid nodded, turned, and shuffled out of the room again. McGonagall then turned to Harry and siad, "Before I meet them, I would like a word with you, Potter. If you'll come with me…"
In a detached sort of way, Harry turned as if to follow her, only to realize that his hand was still retained by Luna. She had observed all that transpired around her with silent attention, and now seemed prepared to accompany Harry all the way to McGonagall's office, if necessary.
"Miss Lovegood, you may remain here with the others," Professor McGonagall said.
But Luna merely looked at Harry, her wide eyes seeming to ask if he required her assistance, whatever McGonagall may say.
"It's alright," said Harry, giving her hand one last reassuring squeeze before letting her go.
He followed Professor McGonagall back down the ward, passing the beds where Nell, Neville, and Hermione still slept peacefully, no doubt with the assistance of some sleeping draught. The corridors were deserted now. It was several minutes before Harry realized that they were not heading toward Professor McGonagall's office, but for Dumbledore's. Of course, she had been Deputy Headmistress. Naturally, with Dumbledore gone, she would be in charge now.
In silence, they ascended the moving spiral staircase behind the stone gargoyle and entered the office at the top of the stairs. It looked almost exactly as it had been before, when he and Dumbledore left earlier that night. The silver instruments on their spindle-legged tables still whirred and puffed. Gryffindor's sword was still gleaming in its glass case. The Sorting Hat rested motionless on its shelf. Only Fawkes' perch stood empty, and as Harry listened, he could faintly hear the sound of the phoenix song still reverberating across the night air.
One more portrait had joined the rest. Harry felt a jolt of panic as he recognized Dumbledore, slumbering in a golden frame just behind the desk, his half-moon spectacles perched upon his crooked nose. He looked peaceful, untroubled, and yet Harry felt a sense of foreboding. Did portraits share the memories of those they were meant to depict? Would that picture awaken only to denounce Harry for the murderer he was?
"Harry," said Professor McGonagall then, breaking into his thoughts, "I would like to know what you and Professor Dumbledore were doing this evening when you left the school."
"I can't tell you that Professor," said Harry promptly. He had expected this question the moment Professor McGonagall asked to speak with him privately. But Dumbledore had cautioned him to observe the greatest secrecy, sharing his mission with only his closest friends.
"Harry," said Professor McGonagall again, with patience, "It might be important."
"It is," said Harry, "But it was between me and Dumbledore."
"Potter," said McGonagall, this time in a sharper tone, "In light of Professor Dumbledore's death, I think you must see that the situation has changed…"
"I don't think so," said Harry quietly. Though a great deal had changed that night, including Harry himself, the fact remained that he would be the one to defeat Voldemort, or die trying. It was his burden to find the remaining horcruxes, and destroy them.
"If Dumbledore had wanted you to know what we were doing, he would have told you," Harry added.
McGonagall's eyes flashed as she asked, "Are you implying that Professor Dumbledore did not trust me?"
"No," said Harry, his tone firm, but polite, "I think maybe he didn't want you to be distracted. We each have our jobs to do, Professor. Now, yours is to take care of this school."
Professor McGonagall glared at him, but before she could try another argument, there was a knock on the door, followed by the appearance of Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and Slughorn. Hagrid entered last, still weeping freely, his huge frame shaking as he sobbed.
"Snape!" exclaimed Slughorn, who was pale and sweating. "Hagrid's just told us… Snape! I taught him! I thought I knew him!"
Before anyone could respond, a sharp voice spoke from high on the wall, "Minerva, the Minister will be here within seconds. He has just disapparated from the Ministry."
"Thank you, Everard," said Professor McGonagall to the sallow-faced wizard who had spoken from his picture frame. She directed a glance at Harry, then turned back to the professors. "I want to talk about what happens to Hogwarts before he gets here. Personally, I am not convinced that the school should open next year. The death of the headmaster at the hands of one of our colleagues is a terrible stain upon Hogwarts's history."
"I am sure Dumbledore would have wanted the school to remain open," said Professor Sprout. "Certainly we should expect a decrease in enrollment, but if even a single pupil wants to come, then the school ought to remain open for that pupil."
"But will we have a single pupil after this!" exclaimed Slughorn, now dabbing at his bald pate with a silken handkerchief. "Parents will want to keep their children at home, and I can't say I blame them! Personally, I don't think we're in more danger at Hogwarts than we are anywhere else, but you can't expect parents to think like that. They'll want to keep their families together, it's only natural."
"We must consult the governors," said Professor Flitwick. He had a large bruise on his forehead, but seemed otherwise unscathed. "We must follow the established procedures. A decision should not be made hastily."
"Hagrid, you haven't said anything," said Professor McGonagall. "What are your views? Ought Hogwarts to remain open?"
Hagrid, who had continued to weep silently into his large, spotted handkerchief, now raised his puffy red eyes and croaked, "I dunno, Professor… That's fer the Head of House an' the headmistress ter decide…"
"Professor Dumbledore always valued your views, and so do I," said Professor McGonagall kindly.
"Well, I'm stayin'," said Hagrid. "Hogwarts is my home. It's been my home since I was thirteen. An' if there's kids who wan' me ter teach 'em, I'll do it. But… I dunno… Hogwarts without Dumbledore…"
"Very well," said Professor McGonagall, glancing out the window toward the grounds, "Then I must agree with Filius. We will consult the governors and allow them to make the final decision. Now, as to getting the students home, there is an argument for doing it sooner rather than later. We could arrange for the Express to come tomorrow, if necessary…"
"Tomorrow?" said Harry. He hadn't intended to draw attention to himself, but the question escaped him before he was aware of what he was doing. "But what about Dumbledore's funeral?"
"Well…" said Professor McGonagall hesitantly. "I know that it was Dumbledore's wish to be laid to rest here, at Hogwarts…"
"Then what's the problem?" asked Harry.
"Well, no other headmaster has ever been…"
"No other headmaster ever gave more to this school," growled Hagrid.
"Hogwarts should be Dumbledore's final resting place," said Flitwick.
"Absolutely," agreed Sprout.
"In that case," said Harry, "Don't send the students home until the funeral's over. They'll want to stay… To pay their respects…"
He was thinking of himself. It was the least he could do. Perhaps it would even be good for him, helping him achieve a sense of closure. The other professors, unable to read his thoughts, assented to his suggestion immediately. The students would be sent home after the ceremony.
"He's coming," said Professor McGonagall suddenly, gazing out the window once more. "The Minister, and by the looks of it, he's brought a delegation."
"Can I leave, Professor?" asked Harry at once. He had no desire to be interrogated by Rufus Scrimgeour tonight.
"Yes…" said Professor McGonagall after a moment of consideration. "Yes, I think that would be best. And be quick."
Harry did not need to be told twice. He sped down the spiral staircase and along the deserted corridor. His invisibility cloak was missing. Where had he dropped it? Near Hagrid's cabin? Had anyone picked it up? He was too tired to care about it now, and besides, the corridors were deserted. Not even Filch or Peeves stalked the halls to see his progress.
He climbed through the entrance to the common room, exhausted, only to find that the room was filled with Slytherin students. Bereft of both headmaster and their Head of House in a single night, they had gathered together for comfort. The whispered conversations grew hushed at the appearance of Harry.
He tried to avoid their eyes, and in doing so, caught sight of Crabbe and Pansy. They were sitting in a far corner, a little apart from their classmates, looking stunned and shaken. They had been Goyle's accomplices, whether they knew the extent of his plans or not. For a moment, Harry considered confronting them, but then he thought better of it. Let them sit with their guilt. He had his own to deal with.
Harry didn't speak to anyone as he climbed the stairs to his dormitory. This night seemed endless, and he merely wanted to sink into the blessed oblivion of a dreamless sleep. But first, he had to speak with Blaise and Millie. As expected, they were waiting for him in the dorm.
"They're talking of closing the school," Harry announced as he sank onto his bed.
"Remus said they would," said Blaise.
"What about…" Millie began before pausing to rephrase her question, "Harry, when you were with Dumbledore… You were looking for a horcrux, weren't you?"
Harry nodded his head, then stated briefly, "We didn't find one. We found where it was hidden but… I'll tell you about it in the morning."
Blaise and Millie looked as though they wanted to hear the full story, but Harry's head had already fallen against his pillow. He lay there, fully dressed, lacking even the energy to take off his glasses. Millie lingered a moment longer, before murmuring a goodnight, and slipping quietly out the door. Blaise stood irresolute in the center of the room before he turned and grabbed the pillow from his own bed, then crawled on top of the blankets next to Harry. He laid on his side, and Harry could feel his gaze on his profile, even with his eyes closed.
"Harry…" he whispered, "You shouldn't blame yourself."
Harry flinched, turning to look back at Blaise. "Why do you say that?"
"Because I know how you are. You're going to try to blame yourself for what happened… For not seeing through Snape sooner… But you said it yourself, Dumbledore had immobilized you. There wasn't anything you could have done."
Harry bit back a scream of bitter laughter. Blaise really had no clue. Harry turned his face away again, closing his eyes as he willed himself to fall asleep. It should have been easy. He was so, so very tired. But he remained awake, long after Blaise's breathing became slow and deep, and Draco returned from the hospital wing, slipping into his own bed. When Harry finally dropped into unconsciousness, he imagined he could still hear the phoenix song, though he knew it was impossible. Even in the depths of the castle, where no outside sound could reach, Harry was certain that Fawkes, like Dumbledore, had left Hogwarts, never to return.