It was a week before Harry saw Dumbledore one-on-one again. For the time being, at least, Harry's gamble paid dividends. Dolores Umbridge couldn't look him in the eye.
She took her meals in her room. She didn't start any more probes or plots to catch Neville. All she did was teach and hide. Harry was sure she wanted nothing more than to throw him in Azkaban. But Umbridge was a coward, it was as simple as that. As long as she knew he could hurt her, she would do everything in her power not to step on his toes.
As for Dumbledore, the headmaster never rebuked Harry for the approach that he'd chosen. Whether he approved… You'd have to be in his head to know. Harry doubted it. But as long as he didn't say anything, Harry was content to enjoy the peace he'd bought for them and Hogwarts. Although it could've been his imagination, Harry liked to think he saw more students smiling. Umbridge's influence was a poison dressed in pink.
Now, he was making the walk to the Headmaster's office. James wouldn't be with them tonight. Wizengamot was holding an important vote and had run late. From what Harry heard, Amelia Bones was lobbying for increased DMLE funding to combat the uptick in crime. Harry wished her nothing but luck. She'd have to forgive him if he wasn't optimistic about her chances. In Fudge's mind, the easiest way to not have a crime problem was to pretend it didn't exist.
"Evening," Harry said, once he'd bypassed the stone gargoyle, stepping into the office he'd been visiting for months. Dumbledore was at his desk. As ever, his Pensieve sat in front of him.
"Good evening, Harry. Ready for a trip down memory lane?" the headmaster enquired.
"I've readied myself," Harry said.
He produced vials from one of his coat's many pockets as he sat down, already filled with misty silvery substance. Dumbledore took them in his spindly fingers, raising an eyebrow as he did. "Someone came prepared."
"I thought about it a lot. What memories would show you the most in the shortest amount of time? I think this is it. As close as I can get, at least."
"Then I see no reason to delay." Dumbledore sounded eager. Hungry. As strong as his penchant for sweets was, knowledge had always been his favorite treat.
The headmaster took the first vial, uncorked it, and emptied the contents into his pensieve. So began the trip through the past or the future, depending on your perspective.
Harry's metaphorical seatbelt was fastened.
O-O-O
The first memory, perhaps ironically, started in the same room Harry and Dumbledore just left. The Headmaster's office was similar in Harry's memories, only with less trinkets and the gaping absence of Fawkes' perch.
There, at the table, were Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Professor McGonagall. By their ages and the conditions of their clothes and faces, it was obvious this was a conversation held directly after the Battle of Hogwarts. If you strained your ears, you could hear ongoing celebrations outside.
"What'll you do with it?" Ron asked.
All four of the room's occupants were looking at the desk. There, Harry had placed a long length of elder wood. None of them could take their eyes off of it.
"It's powerful," Ron continued. "You saw what he did with it."
"It's dangerous, too," Hermione said. "We saw what it did to him!"
"Mr. Potter… Harry… would be remiss not to consider the danger," McGonagall said carefully. "However, if it's true that this is what you say that it is—"
"It is," Harry gently insisted.
"—then it could be useful. Powerful, as Mr. Weasley says. Albus used this?"
Hearing his name, spoken in the bittersweet way Minerva did it, made Dumbledore twitch. No matter how well he knew it intellectually, things would occasionally catch him off-guard and remind him what he was seeing: what the world looked like after he left it.
"Dumbledore used it. He took it from Grindlewald," Harry said. "You couldn't have known, since he did everything he could to keep it a secret. It was his way of hiding it. He thought the world would be better without this wand in it."
"Yeah… but he still used the wand," Ron said. "Doesn't that mean it can do good?"
"I can't say that you're wrong," Hermione said. "Just… think of how it ended. Voldemort still took it. If he managed to kill Harry, he would've destroyed everything… and he would've done it with this wand."
The four of them looked at the weapon in a new way. Without warning, Harry grabbed the wand, causing the others to jump. He chuckled, smiling at them, showing a little bit of soot that was still on his teeth from the battle.
"What're those reactions? You're acting like I just picked up the most powerful wand in existence."
He sobered when the others still looked nervous. Harry stood up, his arm falling at his side, making it clear he wasn't planning to cast with the wand. In fact, he'd grabbed it with his left hand, not even his dominant right.
"I'm going to put it away. Dumbledore's tomb seems like the best place— where Tom took it from. The Elder Wand will be entombed with him, just like the headmaster planned for it to be. We'll be the only ones who know there was anything special about the wand. As long as we keep quiet, it might really be forgotten about. I can't say for certain if it will work… But I'm willing to try. For Dumbledore, if no one else."
Someone sniffed. It was McGonagall, who looked aside, wiping away a tear. "Ye've grown up so well," she said, her Scottish accent thickening.
Hermione smiled. Ron didn't look completely convinced… But he didn't argue with Harry's choice. With the decision made, Harry left the room, on his way to stow the most powerful wand ever made in a place no one would find it.
"I did what I said," Harry told Dumbledore as the memory froze. "I put it in your tomb and was done with it. My holly wand was enough for me, anyway. And I moved on with my life."
The memory distorted as they entered a new one. Time had passed, at least a year given that Ron had sprouted whiskers. Instead of Hogwarts, this memory took place on the floor of the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic. A stage had been erected, surrounded by a crowd full of flashing cameras. Kingsley Shacklebolt was there in expensive burgundy robes. Hermione was standing at his side, a few steps back, while Harry and Ron were in front of him, flanked by eight other young witches and wizards in the red robes used by Aurors. There were plenty of familiar faces— Neville Longbottom was one place to Harry's right, Lisa Turpin stood in the second row, and Seamus Finnegan was on the far left. All ten of them were young, no older than the age of twenty two.
When Kingsley spoke, it was to address the gathered crowd.
"Ladies and gentleman, I need not remind you of the evil we've faced. Within these borders, bigotry and darkness threatened our very way of life. We have faced trying times. Yet, here we stand. Lord Voldemort is a memory and we persist. I can only speak to you here, this way, with the honor of being your minister, because as a nation, we have resisted. We fought. And I can say, without a shred of doubt in my soul, that none fought harder than these young people before me."
Kingsley turned to the men and women in red as cameras flashed. He stepped forward, right in front of Harry, while Hermione trailed behind him. Kingsley held his hand out, presenting those sharing the stage with him.
"Ladies and gentleman, I give you the Auror Class of '99!"
Straight-armed, Harry Potter lifted his wand. The other nine did the same thing. A bang issued in unison from all ten wands, offering an Auror's salute— the first of their fledgling careers. Hermione held out a satin box, flipping the lid, allowing Kingsley to pluck ten badges from the interior, fastening them on the red robes one at a time. It wasn't a coincidence that he got to Harry last, nor the way Kingsley stood in just the right place for him, Harry, Ron, and Hermione to all fit within the same photograph frame. The clicks and flashes from the audience redoubled.
"It was unheard of." Harry was watching the memory, which had frozen in place when Kingsley went for the photo-op. "There are entire years without a single new Auror recruit. Ten at once had never happened before and I never saw it happen again. That's what happens, I guess, when two-thirds of your Aurors are killed in the span of a year."
"I see that Hermione found her own path in life," Dumbledore said.
Harry smiled. "Kingsley was so obvious about grooming her as his successor. If you can believe it, we didn't realize at the time, even though he invented an aide position just for her. We sure were dense."
"You were young." Dumbledore looked at the freshly sworn-in Aurors. "Very young. Perhaps tragically so."
Harry shrugged.
"With how things looked for a while, to see our lives turn out this way was basically a dream come true. We didn't feel like we lost out on our youth. Frankly, we didn't have much youth left in us."
"A very fair point. Though I worry about so many fresh Aurors taking on the dangerous missions the department is known to handle."
Harry chuckled. "You wouldn't be the only one. You should've seen the articles that were written. The reporters were walking on eggshells, because sounding negative about me would've ended their career in those days, even if I couldn't care less. They picked their words carefully. I think the front page the day after this event called it 'A calculated gamble on the part of the ministry, playing at a table with remarkably high stakes.' If a new Auror died, Kingsley would get the blame for rushing us out. If Ron or I died, he would've had to flee the country. Luckily for our wise minister, his play paid off.
The scene changed again. Spellfire flew on all sides of them.
This memory took place on a dock. There were sailboats bobbing along a pier to the right, while in front of them a broad boardwalk had been transformed into a warzone.
"Great Yarmouth," Harry said, resisting the urge to dodge the spells shooting past. "This is about five months after the last memory."
Dumbledore squinted into the dark, using the bursts of light to take stock of the scene. It was clear half the combatants were in Auror robes, while the other half were wearing something equally familiar.
Harry caught Dumbledore looking in silence at the dark fabric and bright, silver skull masks the adversaries sported.
"Yeah. The war didn't end quite as cleanly as we would've liked," Harry admitted. "Lots of Death Eaters ran when their master lost. We didn't have nearly enough Aurors left alive to track all of them down. There were some big names that were still active months or years after the Battle of Hogwarts. This was the biggest splinter group. They were led by—"
"Yaxley!" a male voice bellowed.
Harry and Dumbledore moved through the chaos to a fiery duel taking place around a snackbar. A big Auror with beefy arms and a rounded, red face was using one corner as cover, ducking out to fire his spells. He'd hit his opponent with something fierce enough to dislodge the man's mask, revealing the handsome jawline with greying hair that had been underneath. That's where things went downhill.
"Benjamin Savage. One of the few Senior Aurors we had left." As Harry talked, the man bellowed with rage, giving up the cover that had gotten him this far in order to engage Yaxley in a duel. "He was part of Voldemort's ministry, controlled by the Imperius Curse. I don't think he ever forgave himself for the Muggleborns he hunted down. And I know for a fact he remembered who made him do it."
"Corban Yaxley, I presume," Dumbledore said.
Savage's face had been marred by a snarl. He was using high-powered curses. When Yaxley deflected one with a duelist's shield, it decimated the boardwalk where it hit, blowing a hole straight through to the ground. Savage was ready to bring bloody pieces back with him and let the Ministry sort the chunks.
But he was being reckless. He'd broken formation, given up cover, and left his back exposed. Yaxley kept his cool. The inner circle Death Eater didn't even try to attack, except a few precise spells designed to stop Savage from building too much momentum. The Aurors that Savage was supposed to be leading weren't getting directions, reducing the fight to one fat mess. When a Death Eater noticed Savage's back turned, what Yaxley was waiting for crystallized.
The spell that hit Savage wasn't lethal, but it sure hurt based on the scream he let out.
"Savage wasn't a bad man. He got mad about things that should make you mad," Harry said. "That's a luxury Aurors don't get to have."
Smirking, Yaxley walked over to Savage to gloat, kneeling to whisper something to his old victim. That decision cost him.
"Yaxley!"
It was Harry, the one from the past, who sent a bright bolt of magic which Yaxley was forced to block. Harry ran forward. As he attacked Yaxley, the Death Eater was forced away by his fierce efforts. Concern crossed Yaxley's face, then anger, then fear. He was only defending, as he'd done against Savage, but it was no longer part of a strategy. It was all he could do to keep up.
"Get him, mate!"
Ron Weasley appeared, his shoulder bleeding and his red hair a little bit singed, putting himself between Harry and the other Death Eaters. He didn't give them a single opening, shielding Harry and letting him fight with all his might. Yaxley screamed.
Harry had transfigured splinters from the broken boardwalk into small snakes, which slithered up his body and sank their fangs in. The stinging distracted Yaxley. He didn't raise a shield in time. Harry's Bludgeoning Charm hit him square in the forehead, snapping his head back and dropping him like a sack of bricks. The rest of the Death Eaters were falling with their leader. Noticeably, it was the youngest Aurors making the difference, fighting with flawless teamwork and a lack of fear only possible for veterans of a war.
When the last Death Eater fell, Harry approached Savage, extending his hand.
Savage accepted it with a full-bellied laugh.
"Honestly, who needs fossils like me?" Savage said. He lifted his wand and made it bang, standing amidst unconscious Death Eaters. "The Class of '99 has arrived!"
"Rah!" Seamus screamed, followed by less audible celebrations on the part of the other Aurors.
"This was our first big win," Harry said. "Far from the last one, though."
The next memories proved his point without lingering on any of them for long. It was one victory after another— raiding the manor of Death Eater sympathizers in Stoke, capturing Macnair on an island off the coast of the Falklands, or hunting a runaway werewolf leftover from Greyback's pack. The young Aurors whose careers they watched begin aged with each memory. Seamus grew a thick beard, while Ron started to show first early signs of very premature wrinkles. Mixed among the triumphs of the Class of '99 were other key events, culminating when Harry watched from the crowd as Hermione Granger was sworn in as the first Muggleborn Minister of Magic. She was twenty eight at the time— the youngest ever. Just another way she set history.
When the quick pace of the memories finally slowed, it left Harry and Dumbledore in the Minister's office, watching his past self share a drink with Hermione at her new desk.
Harry tilted a bottle of strong scotch, filling two moderately-sized glasses. Hermione snatched hers as soon as the amber liquid was in, downing it as if it was nothing but a shot. Harry chuckled.
"Should I be worried about a drinking problem?"
"Shush. This is my chance to relax," Hermione said. Despite the alcohol she just ingested, she looked anxious. "My one chance to relax. There's so much to do. So many systems to correct, loopholes to close… There's going to be pushback. If it was Kingsley, I'm sure he could've managed it. Ooh, why did he promote me so soon?"
"Because you'll find a way to get it done," Harry said. "He believed in you. I do too. You'll achieve everything you can picture and more."
Slowly, Hermione smiled. "I'm not sure if I believe you. I suppose I'll have to try my best, and hope that you're right." She sighed. "There's going to be resistance to our next bill. Wizengamot is the most open-minded they've ever been, but there are holdouts. I wouldn't be surprised if the Macmillans vote against us at the next session."
"That Ernie! Should I talk to him?" Harry might've been a tad drunk.
Hermione laughed. "It's his father that has the vote, not Ernie, Harry! I'm worried about the purebloods in general. We're borrowing Muggle laws here. Even if we tell them that we're only cherry-picking a well tested handful, I worry they won't care. They might see it as beneath them."
Next to the real Harry, Dumbledore spoke up. "Would these laws include the taxes that, inadvertently, brought you here?"
"Yes, among other things," Harry said. "Honestly, none of it was radical, except for the fact that it came from Muggles. Hermione used a weakened version of the Muggle UK's income tax. I never went to Muggle school after year six, and unlike Hermione I never read about laws in my free time, so I can't explain it as well as she could've. The short of it is that too much gold was stashed in the ancient vaults of the oldest families, hence why the likes of Lucius could buy votes so easily. Outside of economics, she worked out anti-discrimination laws. I won't pretend that they worked every time, but suddenly, simply being a Muggleborn wasn't enough to fire or refuse to hire a worker. It was a good start."
"These passed?" Dumbledore asked.
"Eventually. It wasn't easy. And that's with Voldemort's supporters rooted out of the government."
"What about you?" Hermione suddenly countered, flipping the conversation on the Harry sitting across from her. "Will I be calling you Head Auror soon?"
"I think that's for you to decide," Harry protested, his voice strained.
"Please. If you want the position, then it's yours. They might oust me from my job if I promoted anyone else."
"Savage just took the job three years ago! We're not ready for a new one quite yet."
"Savage is retiring, Harry."
The words hung between them. Hermione swirled the amber alcohol in her glass, which she'd refilled.
"Really?" Harry asked.
"I've already looked at his resignation," Hermione said. "His wife is pregnant again. He says it's time to find a less dangerous way of getting paid."
"Well… damn," Harry said. He sat back in his seat, slightly stunned. "I think I'll miss that big bastard."
"Save that for once he's actually gone," Hermione said, amused.
The door to the office swung open. Ron Weasley stepped in, kitted and ready to step into the field.
"Harry, mate. We found 'em," Ron said.
Harry perked up. "Really?"
"Buried in the North of Scotland, deep in the woods," Ron reported. "We're just waiting on you."
Harry stood up. He pulled a murky tincture out of his pocket and knocked it back; a Sobering Solution.
"Duty calls, then," Harry said. "Let's finish this."
"Harry."
Hermione's voice stopped him when he was on the threshold of the door. He looked back.
"You never answered my question," Hermione said.
"I didn't, did I? I guess I'll think about it later." Harry grinned. "You know me, Hermione. I'm not the type to think ahead."
He and Ron left. As the office disappeared, replaced by a northern forest landscape, Dumbledore cast a curious eye at the real Harry.
"What, precisely, was found?"
"Giants," Harry said. "With a few dementors, some renegade vampires, and a whole family of trolls. All the rest of the dark creatures that allied with Voldemort. You wouldn't expect them to stay hidden for so long, but they controlled their urges. They went deep into the wilderness and only took hikers who wandered too close. It was just luck that led to us finding them. A young wizard was hunting for Northern Nogtails and got jumped by the trolls. Since he wasn't a Muggle, he was able to Apparate away in the nick of time. Once the news reached us, we knew what we had to do."
The next memory started. Harry was leading a three-man squad, Seamus Finnegan and Terry Boot behind him. The men's breath made white puffs in the frigid air. There was snow on the ground. It was the same time of year as it was in the real world— early December. The men were waiting for something, crouching in the shallow snow as the air bit their skin. As soon as Harry saw the memory, it felt like he was reliving it.
"Say, Terry, do you still keep that picture of your sister in your robes?" Seamus asked.
"Yeah. Why?"
"Mind bringing it out? I'm freezing my arse off over here, and I reckon she's hot enough to chase away the chill."
"Piss off, Finnegan!"
"Quiet," Harry muttered.
Seaumus kept his voice lower than Terry's had been, but he spoke to Harry next. "Speaking of hot, whatever happened to you and Ginny?"
"Life," Harry said. "She's playing Quidditch and attending parties. I spend my days crouched in the snow with two morons. We're both busy people— didn't have time left over for each other.
"...One moron," Terry said.
Harry looked back. "Huh?"
"One moron," Terry said. "He's stupid. I'm smart."
Seamus gave him a sour look. "See, this is why I like your sister better than you mate."
"Then you're an idiot. She's bloody annoying."
"They're here," Harry said.
Instantly, Seamus and Terry shut up. They raised their wands, ducking to the side and behind trees, giving themselves clear firing lines. The trio were positioned in a thick copse of trees that gave a good view of a relatively open path. It almost resembled a road. Harry had a strong suspicion that if you brushed aside the fresh snow, you'd find footprints as big as a dog.
The ground was shaking. Harry had felt the tremble. That meant they were coming.
Running down the open path, a giant appeared. At his side were two figures that looked human, until you spotted their pale skin and pointed teeth, accompanied by red eyes. Vampires. A troll lumbered in the back. Harry lifted his wand. Even as he did, though, he could tell something was wrong.
"There aren't enough here," he said.
The other Auror teams had converged on the dark creatures' lair, flushing them out. The point was to make them run this way, straight into Harry's team. This was the firing line that would kill everything off. There should've been twice as many dark creatures here. Even if he assumed some were killed in the initial attack, the monsters wouldn't have lost this many.
"The giant is missing an eye," Terry observed.
"One of the vamps is limping," Seamus added. "They were obviously attacked."
Harry's mind raced. If the enemy wasn't all fleeing, did that mean the main force was being overwhelmed? Time was dwindling. Leading the pack, the giant had almost reached the ambush spot.
Seamus met Harry's eyes, nodding.
"Go," he said.
"The moron is right. The other morons need you," Terry said. "Run like the wind, future-Head-Auror."
Harry clenched his jaw.
"I never said I was taking that job!" Harry said.
His raised voice alerted the dark creatures, but it didn't matter. Terry and Seamus were already casting. One of the vampires fell, Terry banishing a conjured wooden steak straight through its heart. One hell of a shot from that range. Banishing had always been Terry's specialty.
Harry wasn't leaving his squad completely without help. When he ran, he first did so straight toward the giant.
It saw him. It was young, only a little bit bigger than Hagrid. Harry pondered if that meant the giants were breeding up here, before discarding the thought for the time being.
The young giant saw him and roared. Like Terry noticed, it was missing an eye. It jumped surprisingly high, trying to knee Harry out of the way.
He slid under the attack. The snow made the move look slicker than it would've been on grass. When he was under the giant, Harry banished it with all his might.
The giant made a strangled noise as it flew. Popping up, Harry ducked off the road before the troll could crush him with its club. He left a present in his wake; Harry conjured a hard metal sheet underneath the falling giant. From a height of about twenty meters, the giant hit the metal facedown and went still. He wasn't sure if it was dead or stunned. Seamus and Terry would need to handle the rest.
Harry's heart pumped as he ran. His muscles were warm and cold air scraped his lungs. He ran parallel with the route the dark creatures had come from, tracing the path back to their lair.
Eventually, he saw it— a natural cave that had been widened by huge strong hands. Outside the cave, the battle was ongoing. It wasn't good tidings.
Harry immediately saw the problem. The giants had been breeding… and it looked like they'd gotten started not long after the battle of Hogwarts. Some of the young ones were almost full-grown. A female swung an uprooted tree down using both hands, crushing an Auror into the snow. Harry had only seen a flash of robes, he couldn't tell who it was, and that made his heart hurt.
There were supposed to have been less than eight giants left in the country. In front of Harry, not counting the one he'd left stunned in his wake, Harry counted twelve of them. Ron's Crup Patronus ran in circles overhead, making sure whatever Dementors had been present were staying far away. Frankly, the battle had already become a mess. There were fifteen Aurors on the scene. Three were unmoving. The others were scrambling to keep up with the charging giants. Lisa Turpin hurried a short-distance Apparition and splinched her finger. The pain made her botch her shield charm, a giant's blood fist bearing down on her head.
"Reductor!" Harry said.
The giant's elbow joint was shattered through its tough skin, halting the attack. This was one of the young ones, not quite as tough as the adults. When it opened its mouth to roar, Harry conjured a metal spike on top of its tongue. Two more spells conjured a rope around the giant's head and tightened it, forcing the jaw shut, driving the spike up through the roof of its mouth. It fell, dead.
"Harry." Lisa managed to keep her voice professional through the pain and panic. "There are more than we expected. They caught us from behind. Some must have been out hunting."
"Get your finger and evacuate," Harry said.
"If we run without coordinating, the last to leave will be overwhelmed," Lisa objected.
"I'll cover for them," Harry said. "Just go!"
Lisa summoned her finger and winked out of existence.
Harry waded into the fight. He knocked a giant off of its feet seconds before it could land a killing blow, letting Dawlish, the oldest Auror on the force, scramble to a safe distance. He heard a cry of pain. Turning, Harry saw a giant holding one of the youngest Aurors on the force by the arm, hauling her into the air. Harry hit its forehead with the most powerful Bludgeoning Charm he knew. The giant grunted, shaking its head, likely concussed.
Then it slammed young Amira Huxley into the ground with all its strength. She didn't move. For a second, Harry was frozen. He'd lost allies before, obviously, but it had been a long time. He'd forgotten the feeling. He'd started feeling invincible.
Howling, Harry hit the giant in the face again. Then again, and again. Bruises formed. Blood came from its eyes. After eight spells the giant's face broke. It slumped. Amira still wasn't moving. If his first spell could just have been powerful enough to do that on its own—!
"Harry! Help, mate!"
That was Ron's voice. Twirling, Harry spotted him. Ron was fighting like a man possessed to fend off two giants at the same time. He wasn't running, the way you were supposed to when fighting giants. Harry saw why. There was a body behind him.
Harry focused on the downed Auror first. He summoned the man's robes. With the slick snow underneath him, the man slid to Harry and safety, allowing Ron to freely Apparate just as the giants shattered his shield.
Harry knelt and stopped the sliding man with his hands. When he touched the man's hand, he recoiled.
It was ice cold.
Ron hadn't been protecting an injured Auror, he'd been stopping the giants from getting to a body. Benjamin Savage's eyes were open. A bad head wound was the cause of death. "Not you," Harry said, as if the man could hear him. "You weren't supposed to do this anymore."
Roars shook Harry's eardrums. The giants Ron had been facing off against ran at Harry. One of them had blood on its fist. It could've been Savage's, for all he knew. Harry saw red.
"Sectumsempra!"
Snape's dark curse hit one of the giants in the ankle, making a thin cut. "Sectumsempra!" The other giant was hit on the ankle. "Sectumsempra!" Harry hit the first one again, widening the cut into a real wound. Panicking and pained, one of the giants dove at Harry. Harry blocked it with a Protego Maxima. "Sectumsempra!"
Every spell hit the same place. The giants stopped moving so quickly. Cutting Curses were known to be ineffective against their tough skin, but Sectumsempra was powerful, and Harry was relentless. After a dozen casts, Apparating when needed, Harry cut away enough skin to see bone. Both giants dropped to their knees.
For a second, as they looked at him, they resembled wild animals, scared and hurt. Harry didn't care. He pointed his wand at their necks. It took six casts each to make the heads roll.
Things got quiet, then. Natural sounds felt unnatural after the chaos that preceded them. Harry looked around. There were three dead. Two others, injured, had retreated with Lisa and the rest. It was only Harry and Ron there now, surrounded by the bodies of twelve giants and a handful of friends.
Ron limped to Harry. He wasn't hurt badly, just bruised on his thigh. That didn't keep his face from being grim. He clapped his hand down on Harry's shoulder and kept it there.
"I should've been here," Harry said. "I was fucked off in the woods while they were dying."
"You're not the one who messed up," Ron said. "We all did." He spat on the snow, a little blood mixed in with the spit. "We got cocky."
Footsteps crunched in the snow. Harry turned in time to see Terry and Seamus appear.
His heart dropped.
Terry was walking while Seamus' feet dragged. Harry's old roommate had his hand draped over Terry's shoulder. He'd been getting help to walk, but at some point, his legs stopped working. Harry watched Seamus' chest move softly. Once, twice… Until it stopped.
A photograph fluttered out of his fingers as they went limp. On its way to kiss the snow Harry saw the face in the photo— a pretty brunette with hair the same color as Terry's.
"I gave it to him to look at," Terry said. "I… thought it might make it easier."
"Fuck," Ron whispered.
Harry said nothing. Surrounded by this carnage, his mind was already on the other side of Scotland.
Meanwhile, the real Harry stood next to Dumbledore, who'd watched everything in silence. Harry turned to the headmaster, smiling sadly.
"Let's move on. The next part is coming up."