Chapter Fifty-One: When the End Came
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"You lied to me, Potter."
Robards turned to Harry, temporarily pausing in his pacing of the small room. "You had Murphie lie to me, so you could authorize an investigation."
Harry met his eyes and glanced away, not quite ready to answer. He traced the empty room. The empty beds, made just so. The absolute, utter silence that rang clear without Robards' accusing words.
He wished he was back in the room with Ella and the others. At least that silence had felt familiar, even if just as empty.
At least then he could focus, breathe the same air as her. Spend all his moments wondering if she'd wake up.
"You lied to me about Murphie," Robards pressed on. "You lied about Grimmauld Place, and about Voldemort, and about these goddamn horcruxes, Potter."
He resumed his pacing. Harry merely stood there, looking anywhere but at his boss.
"You should have trusted me!" Robards' voice rose in frustration. "I don't know why you have some misguided notion that you can't come to me, Potter. I should sack you. I should sack you right fucking now."
"Are you going to?"
Robards paused again and glared at Harry, their eyes meeting across the empty ward Robards had purposely selected for this uncomfortable conversion.
"I don't bloody know, Potter," he barked. "No." He pointed an accusing finger in Harry's direction. "I won't sack you right this goddamn second. But mark my words, we're going to talk about it. After this is over."
"All right," Harry agreed tonelessly. His voice was flat. His heart was flat, too. It was hard to imagine that the conversation would ever come. That he would still be here to hear it.
Robards sighed, the bite seeping out of his words. "Why the hell didn't you just come to me?" he asked, and Harry reckoned it was the softness in his voice that finally set off the anger in his heart.
"Because I couldn't, all right?" Harry snapped, his voice rising with the sudden rage of everything. Of how much it all hurt. "Because that tiara they were on about — that wasn't the last horcrux, all right?"
Robards considered him for a moment, his voice cool in contrast to Harry's blazing shout. "What are you talking about?"
"It's me," Harry spat bitterly. "I'm the last one. If you want him dead, you'll have to do me in."
There was a ringing silence following his pronouncement. Robards merely stared at him.
"That's right," Harry said savagely, the shock on Robard's face fueling him on. "How do you reckon I should tell you that I need to off myself? Should I send a letter?" He laughed humorlessly. "Give you my notice? I won't be in tomorrow. Gotta sacrifice myself to off an evil wizard. Again. It's the same one, by the way. Same old shit."
There was a rolled up scroll of parchment on the cabinet beside the empty bed. Harry picked it up. Let it flutter back into place. It was too insubstantial to make a dent in his pain. Fluttering like a flimsy, useless cloth.
He was flimsy. Useless.
"Well, I've got no reason to keep going now, do I?" he said, watching the parchment drift back onto the cabinet. His words were shaking again, but he ignored that. Ignored the aching in his eyes, too. "All this time I've spent worrying that I won't be here for her, but now they don't know if Ella's even going to wake up." His voice cracked horribly. "So let's finish it. Guess you won't have to worry about sacking me then." He tried for a laugh, but it fell a bit flat.
"Merlin, Potter." Robards made a jerky movement with his hand, but seemed to think better of it. He lowered it again and looked at Harry, shaking his head. "When this mess is over with, you're taking leave. Abstract healing. I'm mandating it."
Harry scowled. "I'm not joking around, sir. You don't understand. If I'm alive, he can't be killed. If I have to make a sacrifice for the good of—"
"No one is sacrificing you, Potter." Robards frowned, raising a placating hand. "I'm not joking either. I understand. You're a horcrux. That's unfortunate. But since when are you a coward?"
"I'm not," Harry bristled. "I'm—"
"Since when do you give the hell up?"
Robard's words rang through the room, bringing with them another silence. Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again, his mind drifting to another conversation. To another moment that felt somehow just like this, though this was worse.
"Dumbledore said the same thing. But…"
Robards scoffed at that, and anger flashed across his face. "Dumbledore. He really did a number on you."
"I dunno what you mean."
"What do I mean?" Robards raised his eyebrows and gave Harry a serious look. "Fifteen. That's how old you were, wasn't it, Potter? He sent you to Shadow Hogwarts. His personal assassin."
"He didn't," Harry insisted, shaking his head at that. "It wasn't like that. I—"
"You reckon that was your job, Potter? Your mission?" Robards was still frowning at him. His voice held a quiet sort of anger. "You're still carrying that baggage. It makes you a good Auror, I'll admit it. You care. The job matters to you. You believe in it. But it makes you a bad team player. This?" He raised his arms in frustration, gesturing at the empty ward. At the hospital beyond. "Here's the proof, Potter. This right here. You realize why this happened, don't you? You're not working with your team. You're not sharing the burden you decided belongs only to you. Who told you to make that decision?"
"I had no choice," Harry all but whispered. The words were strangling him; lodging somewhere in his throat "There's no other way. Do you think I haven't already—"
"So he can't be killed," Robards cut in. "What of it? We've not vigilantes, Potter; we're law enforcement. We catch Dark wizards, and that's our job. We don't try them. We don't set out to murder them. Merlin, Harry." He shook his head, before sizing Harry up. "You shouldn't have had to kill him then, and you don't have to kill him now."
Harry couldn't find an adequate response to that. He merely stared at Robards, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. His heart beating out of time. "You can't hold him," he managed finally. "He killed Siggy right in front of us. Blew up her house. He didn't even have a wand."
"So he's a powerful dark wizard," Robards agreed. "How many of those do you think we have in Azkaban? In Nurmengard? All rotting away."
"Not like him," Harry shook his head. Drew his arms across his chest, trying not to shudder at the mere memory of Voldemort tossing Siggy's broken body to the ground.
Robards considered him. "What makes him different? Other than the way he has inserted himself into your life. Grindelwald has been at Nurmengard for 74 years. You know what kind of holding spells they have in place there. You reckon he's not powerful?"
"No, but—"
But what?" Robards snapped. "Dumbeldore sent you to Shadow Hogwarts, so you went. Dumbledore told you to kill Voldemort. And you did."
"Apparently not," Harry said, finding his voice again.
"Well congratulations." Robards scoffed. "Here's your chance for a redo. So here's what we're going to do. We're not going to kill Voldemort, Potter. We're going to lock him up, and strip his magic. And he'll rot in there until you drop dead from doing something bloody unrelated like old age. Are we clear?"
The words rang through the room, and Harry stood there in silence, not quite sure how to reply.
Days ago, what Robards said would have given him life again. The words would have shocked him. Made him feel like an idiot for not noticing such an obvious, simple solution. But now they were irrelevant. Not nearly enough. What did it matter if he walked away if Ella wasn't there, too?
He merely stood, silent, his face surely pulled as tight as his chest seemed to be. His heart echoed in his throat. Two heats, still.
Robards opened his mouth, as if to say something more, when a flash lit up the ward, temporarily blinding Harry. When he blinked the world back into focus, a multi-colored glowing patronus had come to a hovering halt before Robards. The fox opened its mouth, but all Harry heard was silence. Whatever the message was, it was meant for Robards's ears only.
It took only a minute. Maybe two. The fox vanished in another flash of light and Robards cursed and turned to Harry, his face quite grim. "It seems we're out of time, Potter. Diagon Alley is under attack. It's him."
Harry swallowed, his fingers curling into fists as the beating of his heart grew louder. The room narrowed. Just him and Robards now. And the shadow of Voldemort hovering overhead.
"I'm ready."
"You're not going." Robards turned away, his cloak flaring.
"But—"
"You're too close to this. I can't trust you'll do the right thing. I'm sorry."
Cold. He was suddenly so cold.
"Sir, please," Harry managed, his voice rising in a broken shout. "I have to— You don't understand."
His mind swirled incoherently. The right thing. He had promised his bloody life for the right thing. Had made so many sacrifices for it, he'd lost count. And that was— that was wrong? It was too much. If things shifted any more, he would shatter.
"I understand plenty." Robards spared him a final glance as he made for the door. "Your wife is in hospital, Harry. You've been through an ordeal. You're no good to me like this. You're staying."
"But you need me," Harry insisted, hurrying after Robards. "We don't have enough Aurors. You can't just—"
"Ella needs you." Robards' voice was harsh. "What if she wakes up and you're gone?"
And there was something in Robards's words that lingered. That prickled at his skin and crept inside, and whispered that Gone meant something more than simply being away. And even as Harry insisted "I won't be gone," that same voice whispered, How do you know? and You can't make that promise.
And perhaps it flitted across his face, all neat and clear for Robards to read. Because he simply said, "No, you won't," by way of agreement. And then, "Stay here, Potter. That's an order." And he swept out the door, leaving Harry alone in the empty ward.
He waited only seconds. Only long enough for Robards to vanish down the corridor while his heart hammered in his ears. Then he burst from the room and hurried back down the hall to where he'd left the others. The tile floor seemed to stretch, the door endlessly far away. Inching closer in tiny increments. Voldemort might murder everyone before he got there. Before he even told them.
The corridor loomed. But he was nearly there. Just ten more steps to the door. Five more steps.
And then, abruptly, Hermione appeared in front of him. Her eyes widened in surprise as he approached, and she reached out, her hand stretching toward him.
"Harry—" she began.
His heart sank. He felt it clench in his chest, thud loudly in his ears.
"I was just looking for you." Her fingers found his arm. "It's Ella."
He pushed abruptly past her, fear causing his vision to darken at the edges, until all he could see was the door, thrown open. And there, inside… Oh, Merlin. He drew in a shaky breath.
"Harry, it's good news!" Hermione had caught up. Her hand was on his wrist again. A reassuring pressure that he barely noticed. Hannah was leaning over the bed. And there, propped against several pillows and shifting slightly beneath her watchful gaze, was Ella.
Harry made a sound he couldn't even describe. He reckoned he sounded like some sort of wounded animal. He hadn't even realized how heavy the pain in his heart had grown until Ella turned in his direction and blinked slowly, and that weight in his chest melted. Her pale face lit up at the sight of him.
And his heart did too.
He made another sound, intentionally this time. He meant to say her name, though he wasn't sure what came out. Something choked and undignified, and he couldn't bloody care less. He was running, stumbling to her on feet too stunned to move. Tripping over the useless things. Hannah drew back, briefly brushing his arm as she stepped out of the way. And the next thing he knew, he was hugging Ella. Breathing in the smell of her as he felt her wispy hair tickle his cheek. His eyes were stinging horribly. And never mind who was watching. Never mind it all. Nothing mattered except Ella, warm and solid in his arms. Her small hands squeezing him back.
He raised his head and blinked up at the bland white ceiling, thanking Merlin and Godric and the bloody universe for keeping her safe, for bringing her back.
"Harry," she breathed in his ear, when the hug seemed like it would stretch forever. Her voice was shaky. "You're squishing me."
"I know." But he only held her tighter. Buried his face in her hair and felt wetness sting his cheeks. Ella's hand gripped his arm and then she let it fall, resting her head against his shoulder. He drew back slightly, gazing into her face. She offered him a tired smile.
"I'm all right. Promise."
His eyes sought out Hannah, who nodded. "She's going to be just fine, Harry. The biggest hurdle was waking up." She smiled. "I'm all done here for the moment. I'll have a Nursewitch stop by later to check on you, Ella. And we'll need to know what happened. When you're feeling up to it."
Harry felt Ella tense in his arms.
"Right," she whispered, and her voice shook.
Hannah gave Harry a nod and slipped out of the room. Robert softly closed the door behind her. Ella was quiet, her fingers resting on his arm. He was content to sit there with her, to feel the steady beat of her heart against his chest and forget everything else. He wished for the moment to stretch. For the reality outside these walls to shatter, until the calm of Ella beside him was all that remained.
"Mate," Ron said, when the silence stretched so long it felt leaden. "What happened with Robards?"
He considered saying nothing, just to stay there a little longer. Just to feel the warmth of her in his arms.
"Harry?" Ella raised her head again, her eyes blinking open. "He knows? Everything? They told me before Hannah came."
And there it was. The unyielding, staunch reality barging in. It wouldn't shatter; he knew that. Not unless he broke it himself. Harry nodded.
"He's proper mad, isn't he?" Ron said, chuckling slightly. "I reckoned his head was going to explode. Mind you, it's a lot, isn't it?"
"He's mad," Harry agreed, sighing. "But not for the reasons you think."
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.
"He's got a plan. A proper one." And suddenly, Harry felt like laughing. Because the lifeline Robards had thrown him looked a hell of a lot more appealing from this end of the equation. "Bloody hell," he breathed, his mind whirling.
"Harry?" Hermione was frowning.
"He's got a plan," Harry repeated. A bloody solid plan, where no one had to die. And there was no reason why it shouldn't work. He raised his head, his eyes trailing over the lot of them. Hermione and Robert both staring him down. Daniyel, still glassy-eyed in the corner. So simple. So elegant. All this time, they'd been running circles in the same bloody box, hammering away at the locked door. Ignoring the open window.
"Going to need a little more context, mate," Ron said, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"Right," Harry said, and he grasped Ella's hand. Held it tightly. "So new plan. We don't kill him."
"So we let the big baddie roam free?" Ron frowned and Hermione shushed him.
"No," Harry said. And he was off, throwing around words like Nurmengard and Magical Stripping until even Daniyel stepped forward in interest and Hermione's eyes grew wide.
"It might work," she gasped. "I hadn't even— We were just so focused on destroying him." She shook her head in wonder. "Nurmengard. The spells they have in place there. Robert, do you reckon…?"
"Yes," he agreed. "It could hold him. An initial suppression spell to render him powerless would help, of course. But Nurmengard is built to neutralize magic. Grindelwald did it himself to break his enemies. The more time they spent there, the more magic they lost. Anyone he chose to release would be significantly weaker than they went in. Not a threat." He managed a wan smile. "How fitting that it became his prison. I don't reckon he's got a shred of magic left."
"So it could become You-Know-Who's prison?" Ron clarified. "Just dump him there, yeah?"
"Yeah," Robert agreed.
"Well, let's do it, then." Ron was pacing now, bristling with excitement. "And Robards is all on board with this? So we have backup. Resources. We can track him."
"No need." Harry sighed, a shiver running down his spine. "He's at Diagon Alley."
"Right now?!" Ron's eyes widened. "Bloody hell, Harry. Could've led with that, mate."
"It's a Saturday." Robert had grown pale. "It's bound to be packed."
"Bound to be." There was a tremor working its way through him. Harry did his best to keep still. To breathe. "Robards orders are to stay here."
"What?" Ron hissed. "Why?"
"He doesn't reckon I won't off myself, I suppose." His hands were aching. He glanced down, surprised to find them both clenched into fists. "I didn't know—"
Harry drew in a choked breath and glanced at Ella. "I wasn't sure if you'd wake up, and I told him… Er, I couldn't…" He drew in another shuddering breath and shook his head mutely. He couldn't say it. It was mad. Unhinged.
It hurt too much to vocalize.
"Harry…" Ella's voice broke. She squeezed his wrist with a sudden show of strength, and pressed her face against his chest. Until he could feel her wet tears seeping through his shirt.
"But you won't," Ron said, when Ella had fully saturated his shirt. "Off yourself, I mean. Cause Ella's fine."
"Merlin, Ron." Hermione said, shaking her head.
Harry merely nodded his agreement, resting his chin on Ella's hair. Ron was pacing the room, too impatient to stand still.
"And we're going to lock that tosser up," he added. "Just like Robards wants."
"Right," Harry said, his voice a little stronger.
"So there's no reason to stay here then. Isn't that right?" Ron trailed off, his eyes meeting Harry's. Silence settled, clawing at the room.
He couldn't stay. He had already known it before Ron had said a word. A bitter smile brushed Harry's face. He wasn't the staying kind.
Harry's stomach clenched. He looked down, tracing the shape of Ella against him. When he glanced at her face, her eyes were burning. But when she spoke, her voice was steady. "You have a wand, don't you, Harry? For Dan."
"What?" He frowned, not expecting the question.
"Dumbledore's," she clarified. "Dan's going to need a wand. If you're going…"
"I'm going." Daniyel's voice was raspy, and he cleared his throat. "You have Dumbledore' wand? You reckon it'll work for me?"
Ella raised her eyes, glancing at Hermione, who shrugged. "It should. It might not be…" She paused. "Well, as powerful. But it'll accept you, I imagine."
"Works for me." Daniyel shoved his hands into his pockets and raised his blazing eyes. "Let's get on with it then." He turned, slipping out the door.
They followed, vanishing one by one, until only Ella remained. The soft creak of the door fluttered through the room. Too loud. She shifted, the bedsheets rustling beneath her. Silence stretched, seeping into all the cracks and crevices that formed the room around them. Harry opened his mouth, but couldn't quite find the words. Her hand trembled slightly in his.
He would go. And she would stay. She could only stay.
And he could do nothing but go.
He squeezed her hand, clutching her warm fingers, and leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. She shuddered against him. Just for a moment.
"Come back to me." Her voice shook now, but only slightly. He shifted back, meeting her eyes. They trembled. "You hear me, Harry. You better come fucking back."
"I will," he promised.
"Don't do anything stupid." Her voice broke and she turned her head away. Drew in a shuddering breath.
He managed a soft laugh, which did nothing to dispel the tension that clutched him. "I probably will."
She glanced at him again. There were tears at the edges of her eyes, but to her credit they didn't fall. Merely hung on her lashes, glittering as they caught the light. "You're not expendable, Harry."
"I know," he said. And felt something break a little in his chest. Because, wasn't he? In the end? But he had made a promise. And Merlin knew, he intended to bloody keep it.
So he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. Her still-burning lips. One last time.
"I'll be back," he said once more. "Don't worry."
"I'm not worried," she lied in return. "Not even at all."
And Harry nodded, because every other thing he could say, every kiss or embrace or word he could offer would only delay the inevitable. Yes, he would go. He would leave her here to watch everyone she loved walk into battle. That kind of waiting, he knew, took its own sort of courage.
But she was strong enough. She'd learned to be.
So he mumbled, "See you later, then," and turned. His hand grasped the door handle.
It was better this way. Safer. At least this time, he could protect her. Could finally finish this, before he found his way back into her arms.
He could pretend to not see the tears on her cheeks as he slipped softly out the door. And left her behind.