“Harry?”
The call was a gentle one although its tone revealed all. Sadness and dreams, hope and despair, were all inexplicably linked in that single word.
“Harry?” The call came again, and this time it carried with it a feeling of all things past, the facts of the present and the hope for the future.
It was late at night, around 11.25pm that this call came. Harry Potter had been sitting, unmoving, a letter screwed up in his hand for several hours. The aura radiating from him was one of despair, loneliness and heartbreak although there was also something more subtle than that. So subtle in fact, that only someone who had watched Harry, and loved him, would have been able to discern it from the other emotions.
Harry didn’t answer “ the only acknowledgement that the speaker had that the call had been heard was a violent jerk, followed by Harry bowing his head.
“Harry.” With this, Harry finally turned and the gaze he met the speaker with was one of confusion yet acceptance, desolation yet courage. The letter in his hand was creased and, between his fingers, two words were visible “ ‘Tomorrow’s promise’.
“I won’t pretend I know how you’re feeling Harry “ not this time. Too long I have ignored the simple fact that I make mistakes, and I cannot understand every emotion a fellow human can feel. I know that you feel anger, and resentment towards me. If there is nothing else you believe, know only that there are people who love you, and trust you.”
“Sure,” replied Harry, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Sure. Everyone loves to trust a murderer!” The figure drew closer.
“Did you read my letter?”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand what it says?”
Harry didn’t answer. Of course he understood it, but how could he let the past die? So much of him had died as well. Looking down, he flattened the letter out and reread it. The narrow, loopy handwriting was not as fluid as it had once been although the few words there were carried more weight that an entire novel.
Harry,
I don’t expect you to understand what I am going through, as I am certain that I don’t know what you are going through. In time, the pain will ease. No longer feeling pain does not mean that you have forgotten it. Out of the ashes of the fire of a phoenix, always comes another life. And with it a promise “ the promise of another chance. Tomorrow’s promise.
Remember what your friends died for, and live for them. Never forget the past but don’t forget to move on into the future.
I loved you, although you probably now hate me. I trust you and if you feel you can never speak to me again I will accept it.
To me, you were as good as a son.
Good luck Harry.
Harry’s hands shook and his eyes filled with tears. It was two weeks since the Weasley family, Hermione, all the remaining members of the DA, the Order of the Phoenix, Number 4 Privet Drive and it’s inhabitants, had ceased to exist, save in memory. Two weeks since the emerald lawns in front of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had been unrecognisable, covered instead in carnage; the still forms of students, Death Eaters, friends and foes. The setting sun was not the only reason why the lawns were changed to a burning, glistening red.
When Harry had finally faced Voldemort for the last time, he knew that he was not only fighting for his life, but for his friends’ as well. Seeing them around him, falling, struggling, crying, gave him the courage he needed to complete the prophecy. His friends were dying to give him the chance he needed. When he spoke those fatal words; when the pale, tall figure before him crumpled and fell to the floor, he felt nothing except disbelief. He was now a murderer. All his life he knew his life would have to contain, or end, in murder.
A single tear fell down his cheek, dropping silently onto the parchment that lay before his feet. His shoulders shook, loneliness threatened to engulf him.
At last, when Harry looked into Albus Dumbledore’s eyes, he saw the same feeling of anguish, and inadequacy, in him as he felt in himself.
“I’m sorry, Harry. I did what I thought was best.” Dumbledore, for the first time in his life, looked as though he had nothing left to live for. He appeared older than ever. “If I could turn back time, change the past, I would. I pray that one day you will be able to forgive me.”
Harry’s anger fell away. It dropped from him as an avalanche falls from a steep mountain slope. For the first time in his life he felt peaceful and unafraid of anything. Looking at the headmaster of Hogwarts; his teacher, his mentor, his friend, there was only one thing he could say. A smile lit up his features.
“There is nothing to forgive.”
***
A/N : I hope you enjoyed reading this - it's my first fic so please let me know your opinions, good or bad. Thanks for reading and please review!
I've had 300 reads so far and only 10 reviews :(
All feedback is appreciated, including constructive critisim!
Also, if you liked this fic, please check out my other longer fic called "Harry Potter and the Darkest Hour" Thanks!