Chapter Text
It was nearing dawn.
The tall, concave ceiling of the headmaster’s office was illuminated by the narrow window high up amongst the portraits that lined the walls. None stayed in their portraits. Harry didn’t blame them. Were he them, he’d also have left.
But he could not.
The Pensieve that still contained Snape’s memories swirled blissfully, unaware of the burden that it had brought on to Harry’s tired shoulders. Years and years of preparation, of chasing, of sacrifice, and now he knew. He truly understood what his mission was. He wasn’t meant to live. He was meant to die.
Neither could live, neither could survive.
It was a terrifying thought. He had evaded death for so long, but at what cost? Many lives had been lost even before this night. Harry closed his eyes as he laid on his back on the dusty carpet floor. He couldn’t help but see the image of a pale and still Fred, of Remus and Tonks. Ron might’ve asked him to not listen to Voldemort’s message but in the end, it was how it’s meant to be.
With a grunt, Harry stood up from where he laid. He dusted his jeans and then wrapped the Invisibility Cloak around himself. There was no time for goodbyes and there was no time for arguments. Determined, Harry slipped out of the headmaster’s office silently. His hands shook, he realised as he gripped at his own Cloak. It wasn’t the cold, either, that made him shake so violently. He was simply afraid.
And he’d never have thought of death — it was easy to dodge the thought of dying even when he came close to it. Even when he saw it with his own two eyes. Now he was going to feel what it was like to die and he was very afraid of it. He was afraid it’d hurt. He was afraid of what came after death, if there even was anything after death. Yet there was no thought in his mind to run away from Voldemort.
As he walked through the dark, he noticed how empty it was. There were no suits of armour that hummed; ghosts that would wander around and create a little ruckus; no snoring of portraits or even the quiet whisper of chatter between them. Even when everyone went home on Christmas, Harry still could hear some buzz of life within these cold hallways.
Everyone was, after all, in the Great Hall. Or outside retrieving the dead. And Harry?
Harry felt as if he was one with the dead already. He was now the ghost.
It was all too easy to slip outside through the main entrance and out into the courtyard. He saw Neville and Oliver Wood carrying a tiny little body inside. It couldn’t be right, all the children were evacuated out of the castle. He peeked around Neville’s shoulder to see who it could be.
There wasn’t any mistaking the mousy brown hair of the little boy. Colin Creevey. His skin was pale and his eyes closed. He could be sleeping for all Harry knew if it were not for the way his body went totally limp in Wood’s arms when he told Neville he could carry Colin alone by himself. Neville gave the body to Wood and he looked ten times his age when Harry saw his face.
A sudden thought came to him. Harry walked down the steps of the main entrance, tailing Neville where he went to retrieve more bodies. Then, he took his Cloak off.
“Jeez, Harry!” Neville jumped, almost falling on the body that he was leaning over. “Gave me a right fright, you did.”
“Sorry,” Harry rubbed the back of his neck.
“What are you doing out here? Wait… you’re not…?”
Neville looked Harry up and down. Harry looked at where Neville’s eyes were trained. He was narrowing his eyes in suspicion at Harry’s right hand, where it held the Cloak. “You’re not thinking of going to him, are you?”
“Nah, this is all part of the plan,” Harry lied. “I’ve got something else to do that’ll keep me a little busy for a while. But I need you to do something for me. You know the giant snake that Voldemort travels with all the time? Nagini?”
“Yeah…” Neville said slowly, rising up to his feet. “What about it?”
“It’s got to die. Hermione and Ron knows but just in case—“
Harry couldn’t fathom the thought of the implications of Hermione and Ron not being able to find Nagini. It was too terrible of a thought. He couldn’t have them die, even when he could no longer see them anymore. The world would be too strange without them.
Neville seemed to understand what he couldn’t say. He grasped Harry’s hand and tugged him close in a hug. “Kill it. Got it.”
A small wave of relief washed over his whole body. “Thanks, mate. You really don’t understand.”
“You’re alright, aren’t you?”
Once again, Harry lied. He was becoming a very good liar. “Yeah. I’m alright.”
“We’ll keep fighting.”
Neville then let go of him, patting him on the shoulder then went elsewhere, either in search of more bodies or to find help for the body at his feet. Harry put the Cloak back over himself and walked on.
Out the corner of his eyes, he saw a familiar silhouette against the dark, crouched over somebody else. Harry walked closer. It was Ginny, he realised. She was comforting a girl, sitting on the ground as close to her as possible and kept stroking the crying girl’s head again and again.
And Ginny, who always seemed so strong, looked tired and dull. Harry wanted nothing more than to leap out of his Cloak and tell her he was there. He wanted her stubbornness to force him back home, to not let him move another step toward the forest.
He walked on and didn’t look back. He couldn’t look back. If he went to say goodbye to Hermione and Ron, even if they let him go to his death, he’d want to stay.
He walked on until at last, he was at the edge of the forest, where many dementors patrolled the area.
Any strength that he could muster wouldn’t be enough to cast a Patronus. How was he to cross over to where Voldemort was, if Harry was to believe he would be deep within the forest? His fear couldn’t be simply overcome, not when he was a few minutes from his own death, desperately breathing in the smell of grass for the last time.
For the very last time.
A small flutter in the pouch at his neck surprised him. Right, the Golden Snitch. He fumbled, his hands so violent with its tremors, to get the Snitch out of the pouch.
I open at the close.
The close. It was the time of the close. The finale.
Instinctively, Harry shut his eyes and touched the cold metal to his lips. “I will die.”
The Snitch came apart in his hands. He opened his eyes, lowering his hand and looking down at it. With Draco’s wand, Harry cast a swift Lumos.
And there it was, a jagged, black stone with a long crack in the middle, cutting through the embedded circle and triangle symbol that was clear as day. The Resurrection Stone. Harry realised, sniffling in the cold, that he was about to join them. He turned the stone three times in his hand.
They appeared corporeal but less substantial than his own physical being. More than a ghost, less than alive. There was colour to them though it had faded as if Harry was looking at an old picture.
Closest to him was James. As tall as Harry, looking a lot like Harry and with the same lopsided glasses. Next to him was Sirius, tall and handsome, looking much younger than when Harry had last seen him. He grinned boyishly. Lupin also looked younger, less haggard. Harry had never seen Lupin smile so carefree.
But the widest smile in the comforting faces was Lily.
She bounded toward him, flipping her long hair behind her and then reaching out to him. Without much thought, Harry tried to reach back but he was met with his hand going straight through hers. Lily didn’t seem to mind, she simply kept her hand hovering where Harry’s was.
“You’ve been so brave.”
Harry kept looking at her, greedily storing each and every word she said. He could stand here forever and simply bask in the presence of his family and it would be enough.
His family.
“Nearly there,” James said, moving closer to him. He put his hand on Lily’s shoulder. “You’re nearly there, son.”
“Will it hurt?” Harry asked against his own volition.
Sirius was the one to answer. “Not at all. Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”
“And it will be quick, he’ll assure it to be.” Lupin added.
“I’m really sorry,” Harry hiccuped. “I didn’t want any of you to die… Remus… Right after you had your son—“ he turned to him, imploring Lupin.
Lupin gave him a sombre smile. “I’m also sorry, Harry, for him. But he’ll know why I died and I can only hope he will understand.”
It was a forgiveness that Harry didn’t feel like he deserved but he took it anyway. He looked at all of their faces — all kind and loving — as he felt a gust of wind push his hair away from deep in the forest. It was time for him to go.
“Will you be here with me?”
“Until the very end,” said James.
“Will they be able to see you?”
“No, we’re right here,” Sirius pointed to his chest. “Part of you. Invisible to anyone else.”
Harry looked to his mother.
“Stay close to me, please.”
And he marched to his death.
***
“Do you think Edward will kill her?”
Carlisle wiped the blood around his mouth with a small, black handkerchief. He folded it so as to not let the blood smear anywhere onto his clothes and then pocketed it. Rosalie threw away the animal carcass, graceful in her form, dusting off any dirt that had found their way onto her pale knees. Her eyes were lightening up from their dark hunger.
“I don’t think that’s how you should be talking about your brother.”
She gave him an uncaring look. “I really don’t want to move towns again. Can’t be bothered redoing high-school.”
“He’s not far from us, you know.”
“I don’t care.”
And sure enough, Edward came in a flash, the knees of his jeans dirty and his russet hair messy. He had a sullen look on his face which he directed right toward Rosalie. She paid him no mind, running off to find her next prey. Carlisle really ought to tell Rosalie to be less hostile but he couldn’t find the words.
Rosalie had never taken to Edward even before Carlisle tried to be a matchmaker and pair them off. So then, was it his own fault? For not giving Rosalie enough time or support? Was it his own fault for giving her this life rather than letting her time come?
“It’s not your fault,” Edward started. “She’s content enough with her unbridled beauty.”
He could hear the sarcasm drip from Edward’s words.
But now that he had been reminded of her, he couldn’t help but prod further.
Edward quickly shot him a look that told Carlisle to not ask, but Carlisle was faster. “How are you doing with the Swan girl?”
He groaned and kicked a boulder, cracking it down the middle almost perfectly.
“We can move.”
“No, we can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because!” Edward raged. “I’m close to graduating.”
It wasn’t the real reason. Carlisle knew it wasn’t, and by the look of Edward’s face, it wasn’t the true reason for him too.
The hardest time of their life was when Jasper took the life of his Singer; they needed to rectify their mistake and move but it was understandable amongst them. Nobody would blame Edward. Not even Rosalie, even if she said so to Edward’s face. Carlisle was no mind reader but he knew enough of his own coven.
Of course, it would be much better if they did not have to take a life. Going into hiding for another twenty to thirty years would drive anybody insane. Moving was the best option.
“I’ll just have to deal with it.”
And how will you deal with it? He thought to Edward.
“I won’t kill her.”
Frustration overtook Edward’s face. As a father figure and a mentor, it pained Carlisle to see his kin struggling. There wasn’t much he could do, though. Vampires would always have a taste for human blood. They could only try to exercise restraint and discipline, which his family had been doing very well.
Human blood was what was natural for Vampires, after all.
Though he never had a taste of human blood himself, he could see that those who indulged in the act tend to be stronger and faster, even if they had been around for centuries as his colleagues, the Volturi, were. Nevertheless, Vampiric strength and speed were already greater than a human’s. He didn’t think it needed to be any more extraordinary.
“But she’s strange.” Edward continued. “I can’t read her mind at all but I think… I think she thinks I’m strange too.”
How funny. “You are strange, Edward.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“You’re supernatural. You can read minds. I think she’d be right in thinking you behaved a little strangely.”
“But I—”
Suddenly, there was a loud crack that sliced through the air. At first, Carlisle thought it must’ve been Rosalie doing whatever she was doing, but it wasn’t the case. She was back in a half-second, frantically looking back and forth between Edward and Carlisle.
Without a word, Rosalie sped off again with Edward hot on her heels. Carlisle didn’t know what was happening but he followed them, weaving past the trees and rocks. It wasn’t long before he smelt it.
The stench of death hung heavy in the air, growing stronger the closer he got to the source. It was unlike anything he had ever smelt before. A stale, damp odour that he associated with a fresh body, sweet undertone of still fresh blood, and a peculiar scent that he couldn’t place—something in between petrichor and singed grass.
Rosalie stopped in her tracks.
“I found him here,” she said.
On the ground was a boy with shocking dark hair and dirty clothes, sprawled. His skin looked pale and sallow, limbs a little twisted at an angle that was sure to be uncomfortable were he awake.
Carlisle crouched close to the boy.
He laid face down in the dirt with his face off to the side. He could see a pair of broken glasses that dug uncomfortably at the nose bridge and a large scar that ran from the boy’s forehead to his eyelid. With a quick glance, Carlisle knew he wasn’t dead but he was critical. The boy's heart was weak but fighting on to dear life and the rise and fall of his chest sluggish.
“He doesn't sound dead.”
“But close to,” Carlisle murmured.
Perhaps it was just a father's intuition, but Carlisle turned to look at Edward. There was a grimace on his face that couldn't be masked or hidden. Edward caught him staring, turning away his face as if Carlisle would not see right through the apparent discomfort Edward had.
Nothing was out of the ordinary, even Rosalie did not flinch at the sight of the body. Must be something that only Edward can hear, then.
“Prepare a room. I’ll carry him.”
Both Edward and Rosalie nodded, not questioning his instructions. They were much faster, especially Edward, and were gone before he finished his sentence.
As he scooped the boy up, a small pendant fell out of the boy’s jacket pocket.
Carlisle picked it up, holding the boy as if he was a potato sack over his shoulder. The pendant was a golden ring with a broken hourglass held by two screws on either side. There were small dials around the ring. It seemed intricate and valuable to the boy, so he made sure to keep it safe.
Already feeling like he wasted too much time, Carlisle ran as fast as he could back home. He could only hope that the boy would hold on to his weak, fluttering heartbeats until he could help.