Epilogue - Reunion
Harry felt his soul drift slowly away from his falling body. All around him was chaos and murder. He could hear the shrieks of the Death Eaters who had seen their lord fall to his knees, dead. Other shouts, most likely taking advantage of the distraction Lord Voldemort served, convinced Harry that they had triumphed. He heard the wails, those much closer and much louder, of his friends as he faintly felt his own kneecaps slam into the ground.
He couldn’t see their expressions anymore, but the sheer sorrow that traveled with their voices rippled through his spirit. He wanted to tell them, “Don’t cry. Everything will be all right. I’m okay,” but no sound came from where he felt his mouth was. As he felt his soul float farther and farther away from its earthly counterpart, he heard a new set of voices. Voices that weren’t at all unhappy to see him.
“You did well, my son,” whispered the man who had sung him the lullaby.
“Knew you could do it,” chuckled a voice he had terribly missed since the end of his fifth year.
“Never doubted you for a second,” his friend werewolf said jovially.
“I love you, Harry.” The woman whose face Harry’d last seen contorted with fear floated forth, containing nothing but warmth for the son she’d lost so early on.
Their essence and breath caressed Harry so comfortably, he couldn’t help but close his eyes. The love Harry found him surrounded by was so strong, it felt tangible. For the first time since he visited October 31, 1981, light broke through the dark clouds of emotions Harry had shrouded himself in. Here was his family at last. Here was where he belonged.
Harry’s specter turned back around one last time at his body which now rested on its stomach, eyes closed in peaceful slumber. The corners of the mouth were turned upward ever so slightly.
A warm breeze blew by then, tossing a rectangular piece of paper around playfully. The paper landed not far from where Harry had been moments earlier. There, Harry saw the missing photograph he had secretly so desperately tried to find the instant he returned from Hallow’s Eve. The family oblivious to the evil of the world. The edges were crinkled now, as if someone held it outside its frame for hours at a time to stare at the smiles of the father, the laughter of the mother, and the happy innocence of the babe.
Faintly Harry realized that Voldemort had slipped the photograph into his cloak the night he visited the Potters in a futile effort to claim a piece of the one thing he didn’t understand: love.
Harry looked down at the Dark Lord’s broken body and smiled with pity. Then he closed what should have been his eyes and rid himself of the sixteen years of turmoil in preparation of reuniting with his family at last.
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home.
Welcome home, Harry.
End notes: This story was completed on July 14, 2007 and was written without any knowledge of the events that occur in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Any information disproved or any new information revealed will not be incorporated into this story.
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