AN
Harry is an unreliable narrator, of course. Keep that in mind.
1997, 6th year
Rhea was right.
Of course, she was. Harry didn't know how he had never seen it before – the signs were everywhere. He kept seeing it everywhere – Slytherins being shunned, Slytherins being looked at with narrow, suspicious eyes, Slytherins being shoved aside, being –
They gave back as good as they got, usually, not always. They weren't entirely good people, themselves – Harry had to hold himself back whenever the word mudblood fell. But there was a pattern he began to see and it wasn't looking good for any of the other houses and he –
How had he never noticed?
Ron and Hermione did not agree. They gave him weird looks and acted as if it was one of his usual obsessions – but Harry wasn't obsessed! And they all knew he was right about Malfoy being a Death Eater, too!
It was – confusing. Conflicting. Disconcerting.
Harry tried to help. He decided to do something about it the first time he saw a group of his own housemates bully some second- or third-year Slytherins. They looked so small and scared and Harry couldn't help himself and –
It didn't work.
The Gryffindors outright laughed at Harry, mocking him for playing the hero and trying to stand up for a bunch of snakes.
Harry tried again.
He got called a hypocrite for his endeavours. By both sides, even.
Harry tried again.
He asked Hermione and Ron to help him – they were prefects, they were his friends.
But it didn't stop. It didn't end. The same people that looked sorry after losing points and landing themselves in detention, turned around and did it again behind their backs.
Harry even tried to help Malfoy, but that backfired spectacularly. Harry should have expected that. At least no one got hurt this time. Not physically.
Theodore found him alone in their corner of the library after a particularly bad day, curled up and miserable.
The silence went on for so long that Harry thought Theodore had already left, but then a warm and comforting weight settled around his shoulders and Harry drew in a sharp breath when he realised that Theodore was hugging him.
Neither of them said a word.
Theodore was simply there, spending quiet comfort as Harry allowed himself to let himself feel the grief of being unable to do a single thing. He had wanted to – It hadn't even been about appeasing Theodore and Rhea, about gaining back their friendship. Harry had simply, sincerely wanted to do the right thing. To not be ignorant of his surroundings for once.
He had just wanted to do the right thing …
"You cannot change centuries-old history overnight," Theodore said quietly. "It doesn't work like that."
If Theodore had to raise silencing charms because Harry started crying miserably, neither of them would say a word about it.
o
And then, suddenly, it was as if nothing had ever happened.
Harry was too afraid to ask Rhea about it, too afraid to raise the topic at all.
Oddly enough, Zabini continued joining them in their corner even though the other Slytherins had stopped.
Harry was confused. He had expected –
He didn't know what he had expected, but it wasn't this. He still hadn't managed to properly apologise – Harry now realised it was really Malfoy he should apologise to and not Theodore and Rhea – and he hadn't been able to do anything about the unfair treatment of the Slytherins so far and – and –
Harry was too afraid to bring it up, too afraid to break the fragile peace. It didn't seem fragile, but it must have been. There was no way everything would simply go back to normal just like that.
But it was. It had. Even Theodore –
They hadn't talked about it – about anything – neither the argument nor the kiss that happened mere days before Harry had fought Malfoy. Several weeks had now passed since that kiss.
But they were fine. They hadn't – They hadn't kissed again or even held hands. But they were fine.
That was the important part. That was all that counted.
Right?
o
"You're welcome," Rhea said as she dropped something in front of them. "As promised."
Harry did not shriek. He did. Not.
The thing Rhea had dropped in front of them was – it looked like –
"I see that you chose not to use a gun," Harry distantly heard Theodore say.
Harry closed his mouth, gulped, then wrenched his eyes away to look at Rhea. "Why does he look like that?"
Rhea shrugged. "Might be a side effect of having an artificial body. Or perhaps being only a fragment of a soul. Which reminds me, there's still one piece left."
Then she pulled off one of her gloves and reached out and Harry only managed to say, "One piece of what?" before her hand touched his cheek and everything went dark.
o
"On one hand, gifting him to grand-aunt Naenia sounds like a really, really good idea – she would be oh-so-very pleased."
Harry furrowed his brows. This was – He was having a very strange dream.
"On the other hand, when will I ever get the chance to experiment on an artificially made body again?"
His body felt weird and his eyelids were so heavy.
"Would your grand-aunt mind if you experimented on him first and then gave him to her?"
What – What was going on?
"I thought about that as well, but …"
Someone – He was lying on something soft and warm and there was something soft and warm caressing his face.
"You don't know what state the body will be in after you're finished."
Harry breathed in.
"Unless I hold back, but what fun would be in that? He's awake, by the way."
"I know."
Harry opened his eyes.
"How are you feeling, Harry?" said the blurry shape above him.
Harry squinted. "Theo?"
"Ah, one second."
The blurry shape moved and Harry could feel the movement underneath him. Was he – Was he lying on Theodore's lap?
His glasses were gently slid onto his face and – Yep. He was totally lying on Theodore's lap. What.
"How did it go? Did Death give you the whole rundown of 'becoming the Master of Death in every world eventually'?"
"Yes. You wouldn't happen to know a Lynea Lémure, would you?"
Rhea tilted her head. "Not in this universe, no."
She smiled – as creepy as ever, Harry noted and then realised it was in response to the odd expression his face was making.
"That reminds me." Harry fumbled for a moment, trying not to drop the little stone. "I believe I promised you this."
Rhea's eyes lit up. "You cannot imagine how hard it was not to simply steal it out of your pocket. I could sense it the moment I entered the room."
She slowly reached out to take the stone from his hands, careful not to touch him directly.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "We won't forget this."
Harry didn't understand why she made such a big deal out of this – he hadn't even found the thing, himself, nor was it actually his – Wait. According to Death, the Resurrection Stone did belong to him. Oh, well.
Harry looked to the side, to the spot Theodore was vehemently avoiding with his eyes, and – Yep. The body was still there, lying discarded in a corner of the desolate classroom.
Harry turned his gaze back to Rhea. "So Voldemort is really dead, then? You took care of all of the Horcruxes?"
Rhea's smile widened into an even creepier smirk. (How did she even do that?) "I had a lot of fun looking for those. And then the most interesting thing occurred."
"Which was …?"
"Why," Rhea said sweetly, "you, of course. And here I had been wondering about your scars for ages and it turns out it's just a Blood Quill, a Basilisk, and a piece of the Dark Lord's soul."
Harry closed his mouth. Opened it to speak, only to find no words. Closed it again.
"I was a Horcrux?"
Death had not told him about that particular titbit.
"Irony at its finest," Rhea affirmed. "You may explain it all to Headmaster Dumbledore, of course. I'm sure he would like to know the Dark Lord isn't going to be a threat anymore."
Harry gave her an incredulous look. "And how am I supposed to explain that? You did all the work!"
Rhea's smile sharpened. "Someone should probably inform him, considering how many schemes he has in place, but I'm certainly not going to do it. If you don't want to tell him, then don't. I don't care either way – and it's not like the Headmaster has much time left to live, anyway."
Harry turned his eyes to the ceiling. "Theo. Help."
"No can do," Theodore said and Harry could hear the smile in his voice. "You're on your own, I'm afraid."
"On that matter," Rhea continued, "now that I solved your biggest problem for you, do be a dear and take care of the actual problems that are plaguing our society."
Harry closed his eyes. "At least let me pass my N.E.W.T.s first."
"You gave me such a precious gift, I might just allow you to convince me. After you have personally apologised to Draco, of course. You can start small – by giving the Hufflepuffs a better life here at Hogwarts."
"What, not the Slytherins?"
"Hufflepuff needs it more."
o
Harry looked at the marble table standing in front of hundreds of chairs that had been set out in rows before it.
It was a beautiful summer's day.
All sorts of people were arriving one after the other and, after extending their solemn greetings to the hosts, settling into the chairs – young and old, shabby and smart. Harry only recognised a handful of them – members of the Order of the Phoenix, teachers and students from Hogwarts, the Weasleys …
For some reason, Harry had assumed the funeral would be held on the school grounds. He could almost hear Rhea telling him 'what a ridiculous notion that would be'.
Instead, they were at the Lémure estate. The famed Lémure cemetery just behind the marble table. Many would die to be buried there, or so Harry had heard. He thought it was probably meant metaphorically, but he supposed the literal meaning also applied in this case. Dumbledore would be buried in a tomb of his own – not a mere grave. Apparently, this was a very special privilege and a lot of people had had to donate money to make it happen.
Because a funeral hosted by the Lémures wasn't an expensive privilege already.
Though, if Rhea was to be believed – and of course she was, she was a Lémure herself, after all – the Lémures often offered their services to those in need without asking for compensation. Harry suspected the entire affair was only so expensive, because they weren't overly fond of Albus Dumbledore and more than enough people were willing, even eager to pay for it.
Rhea's relatives, Harry had discovered – those in attendance, at least – were simultaneously way more unsettling but also far less unhinged than Rhea. Harry didn't know how to feel about that.
The funeral itself was – magical. In all senses of the word.
Harry wouldn't have been able to describe it if asked – he didn't understand half of what was happening, anyway – only that he had never seen anything like it. The only part that did not quite fit was the eulogy some little tufty-haired man held. Harry highly suspected this was another thing the Lémures usually took care of, but simply didn't in this particular case because it was Albus Dumbledore. Harry kept wondering what a wise and kind man like him could have possibly done to offend the entire family so.
After all the rites had been taken care of, the guests went forward one by one to pay their respects. Then, Dumbledore's body was levitated into the air and the guests formed a procession leading into the heart of the cemetery.
The details of Dumbledore's death were all suspiciously vague, but Rhea had at one point mentioned off-handedly that he had gotten himself cursed, the old fool, and had had it long coming.
Harry, remembering the Headmaster's blackened hand, was inclined to believe her – although he disagreed with the 'old fool' part of her statement.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Rhea suddenly appeared out of nowhere just after the tomb had been carefully, magically sealed and the crowd was beginning to disperse.
"Before you leave, I have something for you."
Harry stared at the wooden stick in her outstretched hand for a moment, before his brain caught up with his eyes.
He opened his mouth to ask how on earth she had gotten her hands on – But, no. It was probably better he didn't know.
"You were right, by the way," he said instead, carefully tucking the Elder Wand away.
"I'm always right." Rhea threw him a smirk. "But I'm sure you'll tell me what, specifically, I was right about."
Harry rolled his eyes. "The Jinx on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. Dumbledore told me it was all Voldemort's doing." He grimaced. "Which means it's probably gone now and Snape will get to keep the job he wanted for so long."
Rhea tilted her head. "Didn't you hear? Professor Snape has resigned."
"Huh." Harry blinked. "Good riddance."
"He never did like teaching all that much," Theodore mused, coming up behind Rhea.
Harry gave him a smile that was returned just as warmly.
Rhea looked between them, then shook her head and left them with a muttered, "Even I am aware this is not the right time."
Harry didn't know what she was talking about, but he did know that there was still one important thing left he had to do before the holidays or he may never muster up the courage at all. He was a brave Gryffindor. He could do this.
"I wanted to –"
"Harry –"
They both spoke at the same time, then dissolved into helpless laughter.
"My apologies," Theodore said smoothly. "You were saying?"
"I wanted to ask – That is – Can I kiss you again?" Harry blurted out.
His face burned.
Theodore laughed again, quieter this time. "Maybe heed Rhea's advice next time?"
"What do you –" Harry's face started to burn even brighter when he realised, finally, what she had meant with her parting words.
Funeral. Right.
He buried his face in his hands. "Forget I said anything."
He didn't dare to look up even as Theodore laughed quietly once more and stepped closer.
"Next time we see each other, ask again?" Theodore's voice whispered close to Harry's ear, making him shiver.
Then Theodore stepped back and Harry looked up just in time to watch him smile softly, before turning around and disappearing into the small crowd of people still lingering behind.
Well, Harry thought, he still had one whole year at Hogwarts to get it right, didn't he?
AN
Epilogue will be short.