Fellowship & Fairydust

Time seemed to fly by and before they knew it, the last of the Spirits entered quietly.

“I bet he owns a Thestral,” Harry whispered, shivering a little as the figure went by.

It was completely covered in black hooded robes, with only one gaunt hand protruding from the folds. Severus seemed equally shaken.

The old man, however, nearly leapt off the bed. “You are the last one, aren’t you?”

The Spirit did not respond, but that fact did not appear to really register with the Headmaster.

“Let us get going, then.” The Headmaster slipped into his robe once more, apparently very eager.

“Why is he so happy? Did he overdose on lemon drops again while we were waiting?” Harry whispered.

“That could be,” Snape shrugged.

“He believes that the future will prove him right somehow,” their guide said. “After all, everything he did was for his ‘greater good’. If the future is bright, he will feel himself justified in whatever wrongdoings he might have committed to get there.”

“Oh…,” Harry’s eyes widened, “of course. The end justifies the means.”

“That is more or less his reasoning,” the spirit confirmed.

Snape said nothing.

***

“Show me the Wizarding World, Spirit.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Is its future as bright as I had hoped?”

The Spirit simply turned and the scenery changed to a house.

“He is dead, finally!” a man said with a sigh.

“Oh hush,” his wife reprimanded. “He did much for our world… despite everything.”

“Did he? At least now he’ll stop demanding gratitude for it,” the man grumbled, reaching for his drink with the one arm he had left.

Dumbledore had paled. “Harry? Are they talking about Harry?”

The young man, unseen to the Headmaster, also paled. “No… I’m not going to do something horrid, am I? Severus?”

The older man shook his head. “You are not, Harry. They are not talking about you.”

The scene shifted to Hogwarts, and the Hufflepuff Common Room.

“He is dead,” the Head Boy announced gravely. “Headmistress McGonagall has announced it to us half an hour ago.”

Another student, a sixth year, folded his arms. “My brother and father died – died because he left them no choice. When Voldemort died, I was happy, but now I am delighted. He was worse.”

Again, the scene changed. Harry and Severus gasped to see themselves appear.

“I have tried to mourn him,” future-Harry said slowly, “but I cannot. I just cannot!”

“I find it difficult to grieve, myself,” future-Snape replied. “I am grieving for what might have been, a fantasy that never had a chance to live.”

“The manipulations have ended now,” future-Harry sighed. “We no longer have to fear what he might do.”

“Of whom do they speak so coldly?” Dumbledore inquired, “Cornelius Fudge?”

The spirit merely pointed with its withered hand, and a young woman rushed up to a man of about the same age.

“Neville!”

“Hermione! Welcome home. The years have been very kind to you.” Neville Longbottom grinned at his friend. “Australia agrees with you, Mistress.”

The witch laughed. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of work one has to do to retain all-round status,” she said. “This is my first vacation in… too many years to count. I was surprised to get Harry’s letter. I was under the impression that they had reconciled.”

“For a time,” Neville nodded, “until the meddling fool had another of his ideas. Harry and Severus could not stand being lied to again. It pained them, but I personally think in the end they were better off. And now he is dead and won’t bother them again. Or anyone else, for that matter. Perhaps Hogwarts can now recover, too, from the horrors of his reign. Slytherin is virtually non-existent, Ravenclaw seems to exist solely to provide information for Gryffindor and Hufflepuff – well, Hufflepuff is ignored to the point where they simply do what they wish and are practically a school within a school. His death came just in time – Hogwarts is about to fall. Now, perhaps, we have a fighting chance at rebuilding.”

Severus and Harry looked at each other.

“Seems like Hermione is going to do quite well on those tests,” Harry smiled, happy for his friend.

“As if there was ever any doubt,” Snape replied dryly. “I think it is physically impossible for her to fail a test.”

Meanwhile, the Spirit impassively watched as Dumbledore shook his head frantically.

“No, this cannot be. Show me some tenderness. Something… something gentle.”

At this request, the Spirit raised its hand once more.

***

A wand lay on the chimney, carefully preserved in one of Ollivander’s best boxes. The man stood by it, his eyes fixed upon it, a lone tear running down his wrinkled cheek. An old woman joined him, hugging his arm.

“Three years he’s been gone,” the man whispered. “Will the pain ever leave us?”

“I don’t think it will, but we will learn to live with the memories,” his wife responded.

“When Voldemort died, I thought it was over. That we would be happy. I was terrified when our boy joined the Order, but I told myself he was fighting for freedom, and if he died, he would die for a good cause. My poor child.” He stroked the wood of the wand, his face contorting as he fought to keep back sobs. “My poor child. I thought I would see him be happy, marry and have children of his own to raise in peace and prosperity.” The hand clasped the wood now, the knuckles white as he turned to his wife. “Instead, he wasted away from guilt and horror, regretting that in the end, he was not even allowed to aid that Potter child. I could have lived with his death during the war. I don’t think I will ever be able to live with his suicide.”

The woman cried silent tears along with him, as their fingers lovingly caressed the last thing they had of their dead son.

***

A white marble tomb lay near the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

“No…,” Dumbledore whispered, “No.”

The spirit pointed at the tomb, and the old man took a hesitant step towards it. “No… they can’t have been talking about me! The future is happy! No war, no death! They will all live happily ever after, they must!”

The spirit did not reply, but merely pointed again at the marble.

“This… this isn’t irreversible, is it?” The old man visibly shrank. “This is just what might come to pass, not what must come to pass. I can’t change the past, but I can change my ways. I promise I will. Please… don’t let it be too late….”

He sank to his knees, face in his hands, sobs wracking his shoulders. Harry and Severus stood transfixed, watching the huddled figure with a mixture of awe, pity, and horror.

“It is over,” their guide said softly. “He will wake up in his own bed, once morning comes.”

Suddenly they were back in Harry’s living room.

Smoky turned to them one last time. “The ritual has come to an end, and so has your journey of this night. I know you have seen and heard many things. Ponder them, and use wisely that which you have been given.”

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