CHAPTER 107: Requiem For A Dream (Prologue)

Ministry Atrium

1:50 a.m.

Harry felt the dampness around his eyes as flashes of light attacked him. They were relentless, dozens of every second coming from all sides. Aurora's wings extended around him, shielding his eyes and attracting even more agitation from the out-lookers at the same time. The entire atrium had suddenly burst, the cacophony of noises almost deafening, made it harder to focus on something as he reeled from being pulled from his mindscape in the manner he had been.

His eyes blurred, his head suddenly felt weightless, and a strong nausea overtook him. It was as if his magic was quickly evaporating from him. All the energy, his very life force, left his body and turned him into a standing corpse. His legs almost gave out from under him, and he would have fallen had Dumbledore not been immediately by his side, putting himself under his right arm as he tried to keep Harry steady.

He tried to take in a deep breath, but couldn't. He had no energy left, nothing to cling to, and as the voices inside the atrium kept rising and the flashes of light kept coming, Harry was becoming more disoriented by the second.

"Harry," Dumbledore said from beside him, but his words were soon drowned by everyone else.

"That's Potter!"

"What is he doing here?"

"Harry Potter!"

"Was that You-Know-Who?"

"How is he alive?"

"Why isn't Dumbledore arresting him?"

"He beat You-Know-Who!"

Harry's entire body trembled, the room turning unbearable cold. Dumbledore grabbed onto him tighter and leaned in. "Harry, we have to go."

"That can't have been You-Know-Who!"

"Impossible!"

"He was! He was, and Potter beat him!"

"Did you see his face?"

"That's a phoenix!"

"Kneeling! He was kneeling in front of him!"

"He ran away. You-Know-Who ran away!"

Dumbledore shook his shoulder urgently. "Harry, we have to go now!"

"Potter's a killer."

"He saved us earlier!"

"He drove You-Know-Who away!"

"Is that his phoenix?"

"Why doesn't Longbottom have a phoenix?"

"Why wasn't Longbottom the one to vanquish You-Know-Who?"

"He's a fraud!"

There was a sudden collective gasp around the room, tingles of magic gently dropping from the ceiling as the shields that kept everyone from crashing into them. Harry felt Dumbledore suddenly tense beside him, and he barely had time to blink before the entire crowd collapsed upon them. Aurora flew from his shoulders, flapping her wings around and squawking, but that failed to deter the mass of reporters as they pushed past everyone else and jammed the cameras straight into his face.

"Was that You-Know-Who?"

"What did you do to him?"

"How did you drive him away?"

"When did you get your phoenix?"

"What does this mean?"

"What prophecy are you meant to fulfil?"

"Are you more powerful than the Boy Who Lived?"

The questions kept coming and coming, the reporters blurting more by the second. Harry barely had time to process them, much less get a word in. And even if he had wanted to, he didn't think he would have been physically able. His body was shutting down as he stood, everything in him demanded to throw himself on the ground and pass out. It was taking all of his efforts to keep himself conscious. Dumbledore tried to step in, to order the reporters to stop, at one point he even tried to pull Harry away. But not even the reputation of the Great Albus Dumbledore was enough to scare them off.

A loud bang from above sent everyone plunging to the ground. Shrieks of terror filled the room until it became clear that there was no clear danger in sight. "That's enough!" Rufus Scrimgeour's voice blared inside the atrium. Aurors began stepping forward and pulling the reporters to their feet. "The DMLE will release an official statement first thing in the morning. Until then, any non-Ministry member inside the premises will be arrested, banned from attending any ministerial press conferences, and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

The reporters complained, citing their rights, preaching a dozen things at once, but the Aurors ignored them as they pulled them away from Harry. It made it slightly easier to breathe - to think. A mass of people was being forced to floo out of the Ministry, a mix of reporters and older men and women Harry vaguely recognised, though couldn't quite place how. They were looking at him oddly, and it only made his urge to get out of there spark more fiercely. He was given more and more space. Most of the Aurors moved towards the other side of the atrium, where a group of purple-cloaked individuals - their faces completely hidden - were quickly getting rid of the rubble and heading towards the elevators.

Rufus was limping towards him. Umbridge and Fudge followed from the other side. Dumbledore's grip had lessened. This was his only chance, he didn't have much time. Harry looked up, Aurora immediately understanding as she gently hovered down to his shoulder again. But right as she was about to blaze the two of them out of here, Harry felt his gaze caught by the gray eyes of Bedivere Parkinson across the atrium. He gave him an intense look, one he had never seen in the man's face before. It was an order. Bedivere had never once ordered him to do anything before, always leaving the choice in his hands. He wouldn't have given it if there wasn't a reason, a bigger purpose to it all. Something that couldn't be ignored. And though Harry hated it, he felt compelled to follow the order.

Fudge was the first to arrive, looking as pale and sickly as Harry felt. "Albus… He's… He's… You-Know-Who…"

"Indeed, Cornelius, he is," Dumbledore said calmly.

"We… we need to plan! Convene a meeting with the Wizengamot, Albus - all the heads must be there as well." His wide eyes suddenly landed on Harry. "The boy too! He- he drove You-Know-Who away. Yes, he must be there. He must."

Umbridge nodded beside Fudge, almost instinctively, and Scrimgeour was staring at Harry carefully. There wasn't something off about the look he was giving him. It was more disconcerting to Harry than the hateful glances he had grown accustomed to receiving from the man.

"I agree," Dumbledore said easily. "If his guardian sees no issue with it, we can organize it in a few days."

"We haven't the time! We must discuss this now!" Fudge pressed.

"Cornelius, look at the state of him. The boy can barely stand, he's been fighting the entire night. He's drained, both physically and magically. To subject him to a long, arduous meeting like the one that is necessary for this state would be to needlessly torture the boy."

"Dumbledore does bring up a point, Minister," Umbridge spoke up. "The… the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Made must be addressed, and Potter has a lot to answer for. But if the boy is on the verge of passing out during his interrogation, we'll gain nothing from the situation."

"Plans must be made! The public must be reassured. I- I am the Minister for Magic and I demand we have this meeting at this very moment!"

There was a tense silence that followed those words until Scrimgeour cleared his throat, the simple action drawing everyone's gaze. "You're correct, Minister. The public must be reassured, and they will be, but before we can convoke an emergency meeting we must deal with the immediate aftermath. The damage tonight's attacks have done to the Statute of Secrecy can't be understated. Even with the Unspeakables having quarantined the seven cities that were sieged and starting the restoration process, it will take days before the muggles have been obliviated and the damage reverted, maybe even a full week. The international community will not be pleased, and even if we manage to avoid any stragglers escaping through the chaos, you need to make sure we keep appearances with the muggles, Minister."

"I… yes… of course. I must prevent further disaster. The complications…"

Scrimgeour nodded tightly. "Indeed. We need not rush. Potter can stay at the Ministry until everything is sorted-"

"I'm not going back to a cell," Harry suddenly snarled.

"You wouldn't be. We have rooms for guests, you've stayed in one before."

"No… I'm not… I won't… I won't stay here."

"We can't allow you to run off."

"I can take care of Mister Potter," Dumbledore offered. "I'll make sure he stays with his guardian until he's called over to the Ministry."

"Potter has already escaped twice from Augusta's keen watch. What makes you think there won't be a third?"

"I have a tentative solution," Umbridge said, her eyes drifting off to Aurora before they settled back on Harry. "I can appreciate why you wouldn't like to feel like a prisoner, but after all the accusations levelled against you the past few months, you can understand why the Ministry would want some matters cleared up before you're fully released. If the Ministry doesn't convince you, perhaps Hogwarts would be more acceptable. We have healers there taking care of some students already, and if you're cleared before you're called back to the Ministry, you're more than welcome to return to your old dormitory."

"Letting him go back to Hogwarts? Just like that?" Scrimgeour asked tightly.

"For the moment, yes," she turned towards Scrimgeour. "There are Aurors stationed there already, and the professors that can keep an eye out on him. Having him stay at the infirmary, perhaps even allowing him to reconnect with his old friends, should be good for him."

Scrimgeour didn't look convinced, but Dumbledore nodded excitedly. "That's an excellent suggestion," he beamed. "I'd be more than willing to portkey him there-"

"There's no need, Albus. It's my school, I am certainly up for the task."

Dumbledore resisted but Umbridge didn't budge, and when Fudge loudly declared that Harry would be staying at Hogwarts and that Umbridge would be the one to escort him there - acting as if he was the one who came up with the idea in the first place - the matter was settled. Dumbledore gave Harry a grave look but nodded nonetheless, following Scrimgeour soon after as the two of them headed towards the elevators. Fudge kept fumbling with his words, eventually excusing himself, claiming that he had to leave his office and leaving Harry alone with Umbridge. "I could create a portkey, but I have a feeling you'd rather use your new companion to take us there."

Harry nodded, or at least he thought he did, and Umbridge grabbed his arm. Aurora tightened her grip on him and the world around him was convinced by fire before he suddenly appeared right in front of the infirmary.

"Your friends are already on the other side," Umbridge told him, releasing him and stepping away from him. "They're fine, no major injuries, but I'm sure you know that by now."

Harry grunted non-committally.

"I'll send a healer with you shortly."

And then she was gone. The only thing between Harry and a nice, cold bed were the two large wooden doors in front of him. The simple task of stepping forward and pushing them open seemed daunting. As if taking a single step was suddenly more tiresome than spending an entire night running. There was something wrong, more than feeling just tired, he felt empty. Aurora's presence was no longer affecting him, and it started to scare him. He felt like he wanted to cry but simply couldn't. His mind was almost yelling at him to run, but his body stayed planted on his feet.

His heart started beating faster and faster. He couldn't breathe, not even as he opened his mouth and tried to suck a breath in. The floor began shaking, He was having a panic attack. Was he? What the fuck was happening to him? He could hear Aurora singing something, trying to soothe him, but it only aggravated him. It was like a truck running him over, a sense of hopelessness that suddenly took over his body and made him want to curl into a ball. His chest hurt, his knees shook, and he was left alone in the hallway, desperately trying to pull himself together.

He must have been making some sort of noise because the door in front of him suddenly opened and Daphne's head suddenly peered out. "Harry?" His feet started moving, Aurora flew past him as Daphne clung to his shoulder and walked beside him. They were all there - Theo, Pansy, Blaise, and Draco - all staring at him as if he was about to explode. He had won. He had pushed Voldemort out of him. Survived. And somehow, gained a phoenix along the way. So why was he feeling like this? Why hadn't anything changed? He'd done the right thing, hadn't he? He'd saved everyone. He'd repaid Mrs Weasley's kindness. He'd beaten Montague and Dolohov and Junior and Voldemort himself. He had won. He had done everything he had wanted to. Everything he had set his mind to since he came back from his first trip to his mindscape.

So why did he suddenly feel so dead inside?

They should be proud of him, shouldn't they? Or maybe they wouldn't have been. He now realised he had been doing it all for himself. But he'd tried to change, tried to do something that would genuinely make them proud. They didn't want him to take revenge, they wanted him to save others. To help the people who cared about him and were still there with him. They wanted him to be a… a what? What the hell was he convincing himself he had been tonight? He didn't even know, couldn't even put a label on it, but he immediately knew it wasn't him. All he knew was that there was something wrong with it all. About him. There had to be, right?

No one had died. There were no faces that would haunt his nightmares, no claims that he hadn't done enough. No one could call him a monster any more. They couldn't ignore him any longer. He'd saved the Weasleys. He'd done what he should have done from the start. He'd honoured his parents' legacies, Susan's legacy… he'd made them all proud. And he still didn't feel happy. That smugness, that burst of satisfaction he'd felt looking down at Voldemort had been fleeting. That genuine joy when he trapped Montague, when Aurora came to him, seemed like it was years away. As if it hadn't actually been real in the first place.

"Harry?" Theo called out to him, but he ignored him.

Disentangling himself from Daphne, Harry walked the last few steps before settling on the empty bed where Aurora had perched herself. He felt like a robot, devoid of any life, as he kicked off his shoes and dropped onto the mattress. He pulled up the duvet up to his chin, feeling his eyes close as Theo called out his name again. Drops of water started falling on his forehead, gradual and endless, the feeling of the drops crashing against his face was the last thing he felt before he was pulled into dreams filled with ashes and flames.

That's it for this chapter and the FIFTH-YEAR FINALE, thank you all for reading!

By the time I'm posting this, I'm TWELVE chapters ahead, and have just finished writing the last chapter of the last arc of fifth-year titled No Rest For The Wicked! I AM OFFICIALLY DONE WITH FIFTH-YEAR! If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)