After years of frivolous reporting and made-up stories, it seemed now like The Daily Prophet could barely cover everything happening in the wizarding world now. Every day brought new Death Eater attacks, new alleged Voldemort sightings, new rumors from within the Ministry. Harry read every new edition cover to cover and still felt woefully uninformed about the greater machinations of the war.
This was not at all what he expected war to be like. He envisioned vast battlefields, hundreds of fighters working in tandem against their foes. But Voldemort's tactics were more underhanded and dirty: striking fast and hard, causing as much mayhem as possible before retreating ahead of the Aurors' arrival.
It left Harry feeling inadequate in the face of such an enigmatic enemy. How was he meant to make a difference in this war? What use was it to be a strong fighter when the enemy disappeared before a fight could even occur? The Aurors seemed just as ineffective, always one step behind, and he could sense the frustration mounting after days of arriving at the scene too late. Harry was unsure what to do next, and what direction his life would take in the coming months.
One morning, Harry came downstairs for breakfast to find Lily seated at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee. She had several pieces of parchment spread out across the table before her, as she perused their contents.
"Morning, Mum," Harry greeted her. "What have you got there?"
"Oh, this?" said Lily. "Madam Marchbanks owled this morning about your O.W.L.'s. She was supposed to come next week to administer the exams, but I can request a delay so you can finish preparing."
"We can do it next week," said Harry. "I'm basically prepared."
"You're certain?" asked Lily nervously. "You haven't touched your textbooks in nearly two weeks, and with everything else going on—"
"I could use the distraction," said Harry. "I'll be ready by Saturday."
In truth, he hadn't given much thought to his O.W.L.'s since Saul's death. He'd planned to forego them and leave home to join Bill and Fleur on the Horcrux hunt full-time, but those plans would have to wait until he could speak with them properly. Fleur was still laying low in France, while Bill was keeping busy with the Order and constantly on assignment. Besides, having something to occupy his mind with might help to ease the pit of anxiety bubbling in his stomach day after day.
Harry sat with Lily to go over Marchbanks' materials and begin studying. "She's sent a checklist to mark all the exams you want to take, in addition to the three you've already completed," said Lily. "I've signed you up for Potions, Herbology, Astronomy, History of Magic, Ancient Runes, Divination, and Care of Magical Creatures."
"And Muggle Studies," Harry said, indicating the unchecked box on the list.
"But you've never taken Muggle Studies!" Lily frowned.
"I reckon I'll be alright," Harry shrugged. He'd come across one of his mother's old textbooks on the subject in the basement, and found the material laughably easy. Ten years spent living with the Dursleys felt like more than adequate preparation. Lily didn't seem all that reassured by his answer, but she did sign him up for the exam anyway.
The two of them spent the remainder of the week cramming for the exams. Occasionally James would jump in to give pointers when he was around, or Dahlia would wander by and listen in on Lily's explanations, making it a full family activity. Harry relished in the simple, mundane routine, allowing him to take his mind off of the war. With so much doom and gloom forecasted in the Prophet lately, it was nice to pretend that everything was normal for a little while.
The following Monday, Madam Marchbanks arrived at eight o'clock sharp with a binder full of materials. "Good morning, Mr. Potter," she greeted Harry when she entered the living room. "I am delighted to see you continuing your education, though it saddens me that we must meet under these circumstances."
They headed down into the basement, where Lily had set up a single desk and chair for Harry. "Any preference on where you'd like to begin?" asked Marchbanks.
"Not really," Harry shrugged.
"Very well," she shrugged, pulling out the first test and placing it face-down on his desk. "You will have two hours per written exam. Your time starts now."
Harry flipped over the first sheet, which was the Muggle Studies written exam. He felt a twinge of anxiety at the foreign subject, but instantly relaxed as he read the first question: 'Describe how an automobile functions, and how a Muggle might use it in their day-to-day life.'
As he'd hoped, the test was laughably easy for someone like him who lived with Muggles. He was certain he aced the exam, aside from a handful of current-events questions like who the reigning Muggle Prime Minister was and the effects of Thatcherism on British Muggles. Harry was able to make up a vague answer based on rants he'd heard Uncle Vernon give while watching the news, and overall felt he might have snagged an 'Outstanding'.
Harry moved on from there to Divination, History of Magic, and Care of Magical Creatures. He ignored the growing cramps in his right hand as he flew through the tests, which he'd already taken in his previous timeline. History of Magic gave him the most trouble, though he retained enough memory of the questions that he was able to study the right things this time around and give decent enough answers. It turned out that not having a Dark Lord trying to break into your mind during an exam did wonders for one's concentration.
Madam Marchbanks ended things there that day, and returned the following morning for the remaining four exams. Astronomy and Ancient Runes went alright, though like Hermione in his last timeline, he felt he might have mistranslated a handful of runes here and there. Herbology was simple enough, describing various plants and their properties based on diagrams. And to his relief, Potions was a breeze thanks to Lily's close tutoring – her simple way of explaining the subject was far preferable to Snape's hands-off approach.
By the end of the day, Harry couldn't feel his writing hand, and his vision was blurring across every page of scribbled answers. He turned in the final exam with relief, and returned upstairs with Madam Marchbanks.
"That will conclude the written portion of the exams," Marchbanks informed him and Lily. "You will still be required to perform practical exams for Potions, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures. Mrs. Potter, can you arrange transport for your son to Hogwarts this coming Friday?"
"Hogwarts?" Lily frowned. "Why there?"
"It is the only location with the required facilities to conduct practicals," said Marchbanks. "The Headmaster has graciously allowed us to use the grounds for the day to finish Harry's exams."
"That was kind of him," Lily muttered. "Harry will meet you there."
Harry hadn't expected to be returning to Hogwarts so soon after the werewolf incident, if ever again. It filled him with an odd sense of unease – would it still feel the same in the summer, with nobody around? Would he feel like an outsider, no longer welcome after being cast out?
But those feelings dissipated as soon as he walked through the front gates on Friday morning. After a quick Floo trip to Hogsmeade, he felt drawn by some unknown force towards the castle, like it was inviting him in. The massive stone structure was no less majestic than it was during term, if not moreso with the brilliant sunlight illuminating its many awe-inspiring features.
Madam Marchbanks was waiting for Harry at the stone steps into the Entrance Hall. "Good morning," she greeted him. "We will begin with your Potions practical, then move outside to conclude the others."
Even the Potions classroom felt familiar and inviting to Harry. (Of course, Snape being absent likely contributed to that feeling.) Madam Marchbanks guided Harry to his station, where a number of supplies were laid out on a table in front of him.
"You have ninety minutes to brew an antidote to salamander poisoning," she instructed him. "You may begin."
Never had Harry been more grateful for his mother's tutelage. He did not remember the precise recipe for the antidote, but knew from her lessons that lacewing flies were incredibly effective against salamander bites. He began with a generalized poison antidote, and when it came time to add the spider eyes, he sprinkled in the flies along with it. This produced a shower of sparks he hadn't anticipated, but the mixture turned a brilliant blue that he knew to be correct.
Madam Marchbanks looked surprised when he turned in his antidote at the end of the timer. "Not the solution I expected, Mr. Potter," she remarked, "but a rather ingenious one all the same. Professor Snape taught you well."
Snape didn't teach me shit, Harry grumbled internally. But he made no comment as he followed Madam Marchbanks back out onto the grounds for his final two exams.
First came a visit to the greenhouses for his Herbology practical. Harry went down the row of dangerous plants, identifying each one and demonstrating how to feed, prune, and harvest each one of them. He nearly caused a catastrophe when he moved to re-pot a fluxweed sapling, only to realize at the last moment that it was a baby Mandrake, which would have rendered the both of them unconscious if he'd pulled it out of the soil. Luckily, Madam Marchbanks seemed not to have noticed the lapse in concentration.
Finally, they walked down the hill towards Hagrid's hut for his Care of Magical Creatures exam. Hagrid himself was waiting for them, beaming when he saw Harry approach. He sported a few nasty cuts and bruises on his face – Harry wondered if the half-giant had once again transported Grawp back to Britain with him.
"Aye, how are yeh doin', Harry?" he greeted the teen. "Mighty fine thing yeh did here last month – they're calling yeh a hero! Wild, isn't it?"
"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry grinned. He was glad to be back in the man's good graces, after a rocky start to their relationship in his first year. They may not be as close now, and Harry didn't entirely trust the man's judgment, but he remained one of the most kindhearted people he'd ever met.
Harry spent the next couple hours demonstrating how to care for the various creatures Hagrid produced for him. He fed the Flobberworms the proper diet; de-scaled a Salamander without getting burned or bitten (though fortunately he had the antidote he'd made earlier in case he had); cleaned out the Hippogriff pens after earning the respect of its inhabitants; and successfully re-captured an escaped Niffler by luring it with a conjured gold coin.
By the time the exam concluded, it was late in the afternoon, and Harry was exhausted from the heat and the tough manual labor. But he felt satisfied nonetheless, knowing he'd performed to the best of his abilities.
"That concludes the practical exams," said Madam Marchbanks, packing her things. "Congratulations are in order, I think. Despite the constrained time frame and your, shall we say, unusual circumstances, I daresay you did quite well, Mr. Potter."
"Thank you," Harry nodded. "And thanks for taking the time out to administer them for me, again."
"It is rare that I get to enjoy watching a talented young man like yourself come into your own," said Marchbanks, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "I will owl your results to you by the end of the month. I think you can expect good news."
Harry glowed internally at the praise. It was a bittersweet feeling, really – he knew the results of his O.W.L.'s didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things, but it felt good to excel at something all the same. If it wasn't for this damned war, maybe Harry could have gone on to great things in the world of academia...but that was all just a pipe dream now.
"Anyway, I'd best be off," said Marchbanks. "Will you be accompanying me to the Floo?"
"Actually, my mother is meeting me in Hogsmeade for dinner," said Harry. "But thank you."
"Then best of luck to you, Mr. Potter," said Marchbanks with a firm handshake. And she headed back into the castle, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.
He looked once more around the grounds of Hogwarts, his first true home. It was peaceful now, with no students, no fighting, no war. He already missed the place dearly – the thought of not being able to finish his experience here, in either timeline, was a tough pill to swallow. It would be difficult to leave here today and know he may never return. He had a few hours to kill before his mother showed up, and he wanted to make the most of his limited time here.
Harry wandered towards the Quidditch pitch, the site of so many good memories. Flying was the thing he would probably miss the most – the first thing he'd ever realized he was good at. He unlocked the broom shed and grabbed a school broom, intending to fly just a few laps around the pitch before returning it and leaving this place for good.
But nostalgia got the better of him, and he instead wound up soaring all across the grounds, taking in the majestic sights he'd taken for granted for so long. Dipping low over the lake, skimming the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and weaving in between the turrets of the castle. Harry's life had never been normal, but Hogwarts was the place he'd felt the most normal in. The one place he truly belonged.
As Harry returned to the pitch, he realized that he was being watched. A lone figure stood at the stone steps of the Entrance Hall, watching him zoom around the grounds. Harry immediately dipped down to land and greet the man.
"Professor Dumbledore!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "Sorry, I was just going to return this broom and go—"
"It's quite alright, Harry," Dumbledore smiled at him. "I daresay nobody else was using it, and it's always wonderful to see somebody else appreciating the majesty of Hogwarts."
"How—how are you, sir?" Harry asked. The man appeared whole and healthy, if a bit pale, and he possessed two arms once more. "Were they able to regrow your arm?"
"Sadly, no," said Dumbledore. "Your sister did a tremendous job of saving my life – please do thank her when you get the chance – but the arm was a lost cause. Because of what Voldemort did, reattaching it was an impossibility. Fortunately, I was able to fashion myself an adequate copy."
He rolled up his sleeves and showed Harry his left arm. It was shimmering slightly with an uncanny glow, and the skin looked unnaturally rubbery and smooth. But it appeared to function just fine, with five working fingers and a full range of movement otherwise.
"Magic is wonderful, isn't it?" Dumbledore smiled wistfully. "It cannot solve all of our problems, but it is such a flexible tool if one knows how to wield it properly."
"I imagine someone as brilliant as you can wield it better than most," Harry offered.
"You flatter this old man, Harry," Dumbledore chuckled. "Come, walk with me."
Dumbledore led the way across the grounds down towards the lake. Harry reluctantly followed. He'd been wary of the old man for some time, uneasy about spending too much one-on-one time with him, but he supposed he owed this much to the man.
"I wanted to say thank you, sir, for saving mine and my sister's lives," said Harry. "We would have died for certain if you weren't there."
"Think nothing of it, my boy," Dumbledore waved him off. "Above all else, I am an educator, and I take the safety of my students' lives very seriously. And despite all that has happened, yes, I still consider you my student – as annoying a habit as you may find it."
"All the same," Harry chuckled. "I know I was rather...discourteous towards you in recent months. We may have our differences, but I apologize for lashing out at you."
"You owe me no apology, Harry," said Dumbledore. "If anything, I am the one who should be seeking your pardon."
"Come again?" said Harry, confused. "What do you mean?"
Dumbledore took a while to respond to this. They strolled leisurely around the lake, the afternoon sun casting its warm rays across the surface of the water.
"I am an old man, Harry, and I have made many mistakes," said Dumbledore forlornly. "For much of my life, I have had two primary regrets, both involving talented young wizards. The first was a dear friend of mine: Gellert Grindelwald, whose ambitious and dreams I largely shared, but I failed to recognize the darkness in him until it was too late."
"You were friends with Grindelwald?" Harry asked, surprised. He'd heard of Dumbledore's famous defeat of the dark wizard back in the 1940's, but never knew this.
"Oh, yes, and I was blinded to the truth by his brilliance and charisma," said Dumbledore. "So when I met another young wizard, rather similar to Gellert, I chose to do things differently. I kept my distance, refused to get too close to the young man. And in doing so, I made the opposite mistake: I isolated him, and failed to recognize the warning signs from afar until he was already the monster I feared him to be."
"Tom Riddle," said Harry knowingly.
"Indeed," Dumbledore grimaced. "And I have carried the shame of those two great failures for my whole life. I promised myself I would never again make the same mistake for a third time. And yet, I fear that I have."
Harry's stomach dropped. "How do you mean?"
"I knew from the moment you started at Hogwarts that you were different than your peers," said Dumbledore. "Uncommonly talented, driven, and prescient in ways no eleven-year-old ought to be. I knew that you would grow to be a powerful wizard one day, one with influence over our world. And I admit that I was afraid."
"Afraid of me?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"Afraid that I would lead you astray, as I had Gellert and Tom," Dumbledore explained. "I did not know whether to smother you with attention or to leave you be. And I'm afraid I picked an unfortunate middle-ground that made me seem aloof, like I was scrutinizing you from afar and trying to unearth all your secrets."
That made sense to Harry. He did indeed feel that way about the Headmaster at times, contributing to his distrust of the man. But would he have felt any better about the situation if Dumbledore showered him with attention, or gave him none whatsoever? It was difficult to say, and he could see the conundrum from Dumbledore's point of view.
"I'm not a dark wizard, sir, and I have no intention of becoming one," said Harry firmly. "You don't have to worry about me becoming like Voldemort, or Grindelwald."
"Nor do I," said Dumbledore. "It has long been apparent to me that you have a good heart and the purest of intentions. How could you not, given who your wonderful parents are? I knew you would go on to fight for what you believe is right and protect those without the means to do so themselves."
"So what were you afraid of?" Harry asked pointedly.
"That you would choose the wrong path to power," said Dumbledore. "It may surprise you to know that I remain in constant contact with your father, despite our differences. He has long expressed his concerns about you, fearing that you were growing up too fast, burdening yourself too much with what was to come. We both shared alarm at your troubling visions and did not know the best way to handle them, as you always withdrew when we broached the subject. What if you decided to take shortcuts towards your own personal growth? Shortcuts like the Ritual of Ontogenesis, which I suspected you underwent during the summer before your fourth year?"
Harry said nothing, but felt a creeping chill rising within him. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised at how much Dumbledore knew or suspected about him, but it was nonetheless uncomfortable to be placed under a microscope this way.
"I say this not to frighten or reprimand you, Harry," Dumbledore continued. "I know you don't seek power for your own self-interests. You want to become stronger to protect your family and rid the world of a great evil, and I admire you sincerely for it. But I did not want to see you lose yourself to the Dark Arts in the process."
"I haven't," Harry said stubbornly. "I don't seek out dark magic because I like how it feels, or anything like that. It's a means to an end."
"And oh, how often I've heard that phrase from well-meaning individuals who succumbed to the darkness anyway," Dumbledore sighed sadly. "I wanted to find a way to mentor you without scaring you away. So I sent you to Saul Croaker."
"Why him?"
"I figured he was a neutral party you might feel comfortable opening up to," said Dumbledore. "He was of course bound by his Oaths to keep your secrets, so you wouldn't suspect I was trying to steal them."
"And were you?"
"Not at all," Dumbledore smiled. "I still have a great many questions about you, Harry Potter, but I have long ago discarded the notion that you have any ill-intentions. I only wanted to give you somebody to talk to, for I know just how maddening it can be to hold such secrets inside for so long."
"Well, Saul was a tremendous help," Harry said. "If that was indeed your intention, it worked. Saul was a good man."
"Indeed he was," Dumbledore nodded. "I hear his family is holding a memorial service in London this weekend – I presume you will be in attendance?"
"Oh," said Harry. "I hadn't heard...but yes, I suppose I will be."
"Good," Dumbledore nodded. "I've always detested funerals, but I find they are essential to bring closure to the end of long and fruitful relationships. Death has a nasty habit of interrupting us before we've said all the things we need to say to one another, but it's important to say them anyway, if only for our own peace of mind."
"Huh," said Harry thoughtfully. He'd had similar feelings about his past timeline and the relationships he'd lost through the Veil. He had never really given himself time to mourn all of those losses, and it weighed heavily on him to this day.
"In any case," said Dumbledore, "I want to apologize for how spectacularly I have failed you and your family over the past few years. I never imagined the Potters would fall so neatly into Lord Voldemort's cross-hairs, and you have suffered more than most. I wish I could shoulder that burden for you, your sister and your parents, but I haven't."
"You partially made up for it in the Ministry last month," Harry pointed out.
"Yes, but I would have done it regardless," said Dumbledore. "So I must beg your forgiveness all the same. Can you understand how an old man made all the wrong choices to help his student, and forgive him his many sins?"
Harry contemplated this. He had every inclination that Dumbledore was being sincere in his words. The old man seemed genuinely remorseful, and sought atonement in Harry's eyes.
"I understand, sir," said Harry. "And I forgive you for your honest mistakes. But I'm afraid that trust is still broken between us, and it won't entirely heal overnight."
"Understandable," Dumbledore nodded. "And I intend to continue repaying your family for my past errors in judgment. Which is why I have an offer for you."
"What kind of offer?" asked Harry, intrigued.
"I do not know how much thought you have put into your future," said Dumbledore. "But knowing you as your father and I do, I expect you will continue to fight this war, and will seek ways to better yourself to fight the most dangerous of Death Eaters, if not eventually Lord Voldemort himself. Your father's recent letters seem to indicate that he fears you running away from home before too long in this pursuit."
Harry said nothing. He once again felt that Dumbledore was reading him like a book, and perfectly analyzing his intentions.
"I fear this would be a terrific mistake on your part," said Dumbledore. "Though I do not begrudge your instinct to use the coming years for self-improvement. Which is why I wish to offer my services as your mentor, to help train you for the war."
Harry looked up at the man, astonished. "You want to train me how to fight?" he stammered.
"I do," Dumbledore confirmed. "James and I have come to the same conclusion that you will be joining the fight before long, and nothing either one of us says will sway you from that path. So allow me to arm you with everything I can offer to help you survive."
Now that was an interesting offer. A month ago Harry would have balked at the idea of letting Dumbledore take him under his wing. But now, having seen just how out of his depth he truly was, the thought of learning combat magic from the greatest wizard alive was an intriguing prospect.
"How would that work, exactly?" Harry asked slowly. "You'll still be Headmaster, won't you?"
"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "And this would necessitate that you re-enroll at Hogwarts for your sixth year in the fall."
"Is that even possible?"
"Oh, I imagine so," Dumbledore smiled. "I can appeal your case with the Board of Governors to have your expulsion overturned. Considering that they are no longer in Lucius Malfoy's pocket, they may be more amenable to the idea...especially given your recent status as the 'Hero of Hogwarts'."
Harry blanched at the nickname the Prophet had bestowed upon him. But in this instance, his reputation might actually prove to be a boon rather than a hindrance. After years of slanderous lies from the paper, Harry wouldn't feel one bit bad about using their coverage to further his own gains for a change.
Would he really want to return to Hogwarts? The idea enthralled him, but also concerned him. He would once again be confined to the castle ten months out of the year, and would be willingly placing himself under Dumbledore's watchful eye. That would make the horcrux hunt more complicated. But then again, was it worth the trade-off of learning magic from Albus Dumbledore directly? Perhaps no wizard alive had ever been given such an incredible offer, and Harry knew he would benefit tremendously from the man's mentorship.
"I...need to think about it," Harry said eventually.
"But of course," Dumbledore smiled. "It is a big decision. And please believe me when I say that I have no ulterior motives with this offer. I wish only to do right by you, to set you on the proper path towards success."
Their wandering path had taken them back to the front steps of the castle. The sun was dipping lower in the sky now, indicating the lateness of the hour. "I'd best go and meet my mother now," said Harry. "It was a pleasure speaking with you, sir."
"Likewise, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore smiled. "As Madam Marchbanks told me this morning, it is a rare gift as an educator to spend quality time with a student as brilliant as you."
Does he mean that, or is he just flattering me to win back my trust? Harry wondered. He felt a bit guilty for thinking that way. But he nevertheless shook Dumbledore's hand and bid him goodnight before walking down the path towards Hogsmeade. He had no idea what to make of the man's offer, and knew that he now faced a significant crossroads in his life. He would have to think long and hard about his options before deciding what to do.
The following morning over breakfast, Harry mentioned Saul Croaker's memorial service and expressed his interest in attending. He'd like to say a proper good-bye to the man who had given him so much valuable guidance over the years.
"It might not be such a good idea," Lily muttered. "If You-Know-Who knows you two were close, he might expect you to come—"
"He didn't know," Harry said confidently, remembering what he'd overheard Lockhart saying about the man in the Department of Mysteries. "Besides, Saul was a close friend, and I'd like to pay my respects."
James and Lily shared a look. "I'll take him and act as a lookout," James offered. Lily didn't appear thrilled with this idea, but she eventually relented.
That Sunday, Harry donned his nicest Muggle attire and met with James to Apparate to the service. It was being held at a Muggle church on the outskirts of London, and he didn't know what Saul's family was like, so he figured he'd err on the side of caution.
But it turned out not to matter much. When they arrived outside the tiny church, a simple fifty-person chapel in a quiet neighborhood, Harry was surprised to find it nearly empty. A woman sat in the front row of pews, and two wizards in official Ministry garb sat off to one side, talking quietly amongst themselves. Is this really all that bothered to show up for Saul? Harry wondered.
He and James took their seats near the back of the room as a Muggle priest took to the pulpit. The service was short and simple, the priest giving generic platitudes about the dearly departed and his 'important work as a civil servant'. Harry wondered how much information the priest had been given about Saul, and if he even knew the man was magical.
After delivering his remarks, the priest stepped back to allow for private mourning. The two Ministry employees approached the woman seated in the front and shook her hand solemnly before departing, giving James and Harry a respectful nod on the way out the door.
James hung back as Harry approached the woman standing beside the coffin. She was in her mid-fifties and wore a simple black dress for the occasion. Harry approached the woman slowly, and she stood to solemnly greet him.
"You must be Mrs. Croaker," said Harry, giving her a small bow. "I'm Harry Potter. I was...a friend."
"It's Ms. Hastings, actually," the woman corrected him. "Saul and I divorced some fifteen years ago. You can call me Corinne."
"Oh," said Harry, surprised. "Sorry, I didn't know."
"Yes, well, I am unsurprised that Saul didn't discuss his person life with you," Corinne sniffed. "It is in part why we separated – he never did want to open up to me."
"I see," Harry muttered. Was that why Saul had become an Unspeakable? Did he prefer to keep things to himself, to not open himself up to others? It made him realize just how little he knew the man – how much he'd never asked him in life.
"Potter, you say?" said Corinne, examining him shrewdly. "Saul mentioned you in some of his recent letters. Said he was mentoring you."
"That's right," Harry nodded. "He was a tremendous help to me."
"Hmph," said Corinne. "How nice for you, that he was there for you in a time of need. Shame he couldn't be there for his own son who needed him the most."
"I...didn't know he had a son," he admitted.
"He doesn't," Corinne laughed hollowly. "Our Adam died during the last war. He should bloody well still be here, if Saul wasn't too cowardly to tell him no."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine – he sensed that he had touched on a sore point between Saul and his ex-wife. But his curiosity prevented him from letting things lie. "What happened?" he asked quietly.
"He stupidly let our boy run off and join the cause," Corinne said bitterly. "We were safe, hidden under Dumbledore's protection. But Adam was determined to fight, to go out and face the Dark Lord 'like a man'. And my ex-husband didn't stop him. He just watched him run off and get himself killed."
"Well...that was noble of Adam," Harry offered. "It sounds like he just wanted to do the right thing—"
"He was seventeen!" Corinne snapped. "Hadn't even graduated Hogwarts yet! Believe you me, he was just sick of being cooped up at home, separated from his friends. He didn't know what he was doing, and Saul should have known better than to let him go."
How did I never know this before? Harry wondered. Surely such a tragic backstory would have come up at some point, over the three years he knew Saul. Was he truly so closed-off that he would never speak of this to anyone? Was he perhaps ashamed of allowing his underage son to get killed?
Harry was also struck by how similar the Croakers' story was to his own. He, too, was sick of being cooped up at home and craved action, wanted to be out their making a difference. And as he had learned in the Department of Mysteries, he was still far out of his depth. He was not ready to be on the front lines, to take Voldemort head-on, much less his top lieutenants. Bellatrix had been a fluke, and the other Death Eaters would never underestimate him again once the word spread of what he had done.
"I'm very sorry about your son," said Harry sincerely. "And about Saul. I know you may not have seen eye to eye with him, but he was a good man. Staunchly opposed to Voldemort to the very end."
To her credit, Corinne did not flinch at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. "Well," she said noncommittally, "thanks for coming, I guess. Best that I wasn't the only sorry soul who showed up to his wake, anyway." And she wandered off, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.
He did not stay long in the little chapel. It was a closed casket, which was no surprise given the state of the body when Harry had seen it at the scene of the crime. Nobody else was there, given Harry no one to talk to about the man, no one to commiserate with. So he sat in the front row for a while, thinking back on his relationship with the man, before standing and rejoining James to return home.
Ironic, isn't it? Harry thought as he took to his bedroom back in Godric's Hollow. I never bothered talking to the man in life, but now in death, there's so much I want to ask him. But it was too late. Saul was beyond the grave, in another place now, never to be seen again. All the secrets he'd kept in life would die with him, undisturbed by Harry, by Corinne, by Lockhart, by anyone. No one would be able to speak to him again.
Harry abruptly sat up on his bed. What if there was a way he could speak to Saul? He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. The answer lay at the bottom of his trunk, wrapped in a sock, forgotten in all the turmoil of the past few weeks. The object they'd retrieved that last time he ever saw Saul alive.
The Resurrection Stone.
Harry dove into his trunk and pulled out the tiny black rock. It still looked benign, just sitting there in his palm, its triangular eye staring unblinkingly up at him. If it wasn't for Saul, Harry never would have suspected it was anything of consequence. It was only when he focused his senses on the stone that he felt it: a subtle but powerful tug of magic radiating from it, an icy-cold presence indicating that there was more, much more to it than met the eye.
Harry had no idea how to use the stone, or even if it could be used. What if something went wrong? Would it bring Saul back as an Inferi, cursed to attack those he once cared about? Would it turn his soul into a ghost, doomed to roam the earth unmoored for all of eternity?
But Harry had to try. He felt that he'd left things unresolved with Saul, and had to make this last effort to connect with him. So that night, after his parents had gone to bed, he snuck out of the house with the stone in his pocket, mentally preparing himself to summon the dead.
He headed east out of town, towards the expansive fields that marked the mass goblin graves. He stopped just short of the wards marking the boundary, straying from the dirt path to ensure no one would stumble across him during his potential act of necromancy. He held the stone in his palm, examining it in the dim moonlight, wondering what exactly he ought to do.
Then, it felt as though the Stone reached out and gently grasped his fingers. Harry fought hard not to drop the thing and run, wondering if perhaps some remnant of Voldemort still resided within. But the magic somehow felt soothing and familiar to him...he couldn't describe why, but it was as though an old friend was reaching out from the beyond to assist him.
So, as if being guided by some unseen force, Harry closed his eyes, turned the Resurrection Stone over in his palm three times, then whispered into the darkness: "Saul Croaker."
At once, Harry knew he'd been successful. He felt, rather than saw, the presence that had materialized before him. When he opened his eyes, Saul Croaker was standing in the field, not five feet away from him. But he was not quite real – somewhat resembling the apparition of Tom Riddle in the diary – and he looked younger, the deep crease lines of his face less pronounced, making him appear less stressed and grouchy than he had been in life.
"Saul?" Harry asked tentatively.
"Potter," Saul greeted him with a curt nod. "Look who finally remembered the magic stone we spent all that effort in retrieving. 'Bout damn time, don't you think?"
"Sorry," Harry muttered defensively. "There was a lot going on, and it just slipped my mind—"
"Just yanking your chain, kid," Saul laughed. He did not appear troubled in the slightest; in fact, he appeared happier and more at peace than Harry had ever seen him.
"Saul, I…" Harry began, but suddenly found that he didn't know what to say. He'd been bursting with questions just minutes ago, dying to get answers from the man, but now found himself rendered speechless. "I'm sorry," was all he could muster.
"Don't be," Saul smiled kindly. "Truthfully, I figured my days would be numbered once you told me Voldemort wanted information on the prophecy. Head Unspeakables tend to be target number one for such things, after all."
"Lockhart didn't extract anything important, did he?" Harry asked nervously. "He didn't see anything about what we were doing...what we were hunting?"
"Oh, no, he didn't," Saul reassured him. "He was quite careful as he picked around in my brain, in fact. He was trying to break the bonds protecting my memories of the Department, but was exceedingly careful not to access the memories themselves."
"Why not?" Harry frowned.
"Because he was ordered not to," said Saul grimly. "His master was quite explicit in that regard."
"His master?" Harry repeated. Then, the horrifying truth dawned upon him. "Voldemort was there?!"
"Indeed he was," Saul nodded in confirmation. "Along with that rat, Pettigrew. They watched as Lockhart pulled my brain apart, but ordered him to stop before it did me in completely."
"You survived Lockhart's Legilimency?" said Harry, bewildered. "But...but why would he bother to spare you?"
"Because the Dark Lord had greater plans for me, I'm afraid," said Saul. "He ordered both of his followers out of the room, then removed something from his robes and laid it on the ground beside me."
At once, Harry realized where this story was going, and couldn't believe he hadn't put the pieces together himself. "The Sword of Gryffindor," he breathed.
"Indeed," Saul nodded. "He began chanting something in a language I couldn't understand – something Middle Eastern in origin; maybe Arabic. The Sword started to glow beside me, and then I saw the flash of green and knew no more."
"You don't think…?" Harry said slowly, gears turning in his head. "He used you to…?"
"To complete his final horcrux," Saul confirmed. "It requires an act of murder, after all, so he probably figured he would kill two birds with one stone – no pun intended – by trying to learn more about the protections on my Department before finishing me off."
"Bloody hell," Harry breathed. That explained why Voldemort's appearance had changed in the Ministry Atrium – he had undergone yet another splitting of the soul since the last time Harry saw him. And it was confirmation that his earlier theory was correct: Pettigrew had retrieved the Sword from the goblin graves for his master, in order to complete the cycle of Founders' objects.
"I know it's morbid what happened to me," said Saul, "but this is good news for us, Harry. It means you know for certain what the final three horcruxes are: the Sword, the Cup, and the snake."
"And Neville," Harry pointed out. "And I've got no bloody idea how to find the first two."
"You managed to figure out the first few on your own," Saul shrugged. "I have faith that you and Bill – and maybe the Delacour girl – can find the rest."
"But I had help on all of those!" Harry protested. "You were the one who found the cave, and Kreacher told me about the locket. And I just happened to stumble upon the ring's hiding place by complete accident."
"I stopped believing in accidents after I met you, Harry," said Saul. "You have a knack for uncovering the truth, one way or another. You may think it's dumb luck, but you constantly put yourself in positions to succeed, making it easier for you to find it."
"Even so," Harry sighed, "I never thought I'd have to do this without you. I always figured we would have more time."
"Me too, kid," said Saul. "For a minute there, I thought you were going to get us all out of this war in one piece. But such is life."
"Me?" said Harry, bewildered. "But...but I wasn't the one in charge, you were!"
"Don't flatter me," Saul scoffed. "I knew from the minute we first spoke that you were a natural leader, like your father. I may know a lot of things, but I'm not built to lead. I was happy to provide you with all the information you needed to make the best decision forward."
Harry did not feel reassured by these words. If anything, they frightened him. "But I don't know what I'm doing!" he protested. "I don't know the best way forward! Half the time I'm just flying by the seat of my pants, trying my hardest not to screw everything up!"
"And yet, you carry on," Saul pointed out. "And people continue to follow you wherever you go. If anything, the fact that you are reluctant to take up the mantle makes you an even better leader than if you sought it out willingly."
Harry sighed...he wished he could refute this, but he could not. He had seen the look in the students' eyes in St. Mungo's the previous month, even among those older than him. They respected him and trusted his judgment. It unnerved him, made him doubt himself, but maybe Saul was right – they recognized his leadership abilities and saw him as someone worth following, so he must be doing something right.
"You remind me so much of my Adam," Saul said, giving Harry a watery smile. "He was also so eager to get involved, to join the cause."
"Your wife—er, your ex told me what happened," Harry said solemnly. "I'm very sorry; I didn't know."
"It was not a story I was eager to share," Saul sighed. "One of the great regrets of my life was letting him run off the way I did."
"Why did you?" Harry asked without thinking. He realized too late that the question was perhaps insensitive, but Saul did not appear offended; he merely smiled sadly.
"We had a fight," Saul reflected. "Adam felt trapped, cooped up in the house under Dumbledore's protection. With my job as an Unspeakable and Corinne being a high-ranking Muggle-born within the Ministry, we were both targets of the Dark Lord. Adam wanted to join his friends, many of whom had graduated and joined the Aurors, but I refused, saying he was too young, that he still had another year of Hogwarts left."
Harry listened attentively as Saul sadly recounted the tale.
"And Adam got so angry with me," Saul continued bitterly. "Said I was too much like my own father, who never let me do anything I wanted in my own childhood. And I just snapped, and told him if he wanted to go so bad, he should just go. And he did. Two weeks later, we got the news."
Saul paused and took several deep, shuddering breaths, tears dripping down his nose. Harry wanted to reach out and comfort the man, but it was not possible, the two of them separated by the impenetrable barrier of death.
"Corinne never could forgive me after that," Saul said after he recomposed himself. "Truthfully, neither could I. I thought I would just float along for the rest of my life, alone, until Death finally came for my soul. Instead, Death sent you along."
"Me?" said Harry.
"You gave me purpose," Saul said. "You made me feel like my life was worth something again. The last three years were the most stressful of my life, but also the most fulfilling. And I want to thank you for that."
Harry was gobsmacked by this. "But...you got killed because of it," he said.
"Death isn't truly so bad, Harry," Saul smiled. "I am with my Adam again, and we are at peace now. Do not pity me – if anything, I'm the one that pities you, and the dangerous path you still have before you. But I know you'll find your way through it."
Now it was Harry's turn to get emotional. He hadn't expected to get this kind of closure with Saul, but now he felt that he could make peace with the man's death.
"Do...do you think I could call on you again?" he asked uncertainly. "If I need help, or...or advice?"
Saul gave him a sad little smile, as though he'd anticipated this question.
"I don't think so, Harry," he said. "The Resurrection Stone has driven many men mad over the centuries, because they cannot truly bring back those they've lost. I believe we should consider this the end, so my soul can go back to resting in peace."
"Okay," Harry said hoarsely. He wasn't sure what to say. What do you say to someone, if you know it will be the last chance you get to speak to them forever...?
"Thank you for everything, Saul," he said sincerely. "I wasn't able to confide in anyone else until I met you. I might have gone mad without your help."
"Consider it a sign that you shouldn't isolate yourself," said Saul. "You have people that love you and want to help. Let them."
"I will," he nodded. "Rest easy, Saul."
Saul beamed at him, and it was the last thing Harry saw before he dropped the Stone and Saul faded from view. Harry sank to his knees and silently wept for his fallen mentor. It was cathartic, unleashing the pent-up emotions he'd been harboring for too long. Allowing himself to grieve properly before moving on, as Saul would want him to.
Eventually Harry picked up the Stone and got to his feet. He walked back home and crawled into bed, where he fell into the deepest and most restful sleep he'd gotten in weeks.
A/N: And so we have come to the ending of Year Five! Thank you all for sticking with me for yet another major story arc, with only two years to go now. If you couldn't tell from the finale of this year, the tone of this fic will start to get significantly darker from here, with more mature themes and events than we've seen thus far. I'm going to keep the rating of this fic the same for now, but just be warned that I may reassess at future date if I need to update it.
I'll be going on hiatus for the remainder of 2024, to enjoy my Christmas holidays and plan ahead. I'll post the first chapter of Year Six sometime in early January. Based on our current pace, I'm hoping to complete the fic sometime in the summer/fall of 2025...here's hoping life continues to be kind to my schedule and I can maintain the same workload for that long!
P.S. - Don't ask me why Harry didn't take a practical exam in Divination or Astronomy. I was lazy and didn't feel like writing them. Pretend they aren't required in this universe...yeah, let's go with that.