Lost by Gmariam
Story Notes:
All publicly recognizable characters, settings, plot, etc. are the property of J.K.Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters and plot are the property of the author, who greatly appreciates the opportunity to write this story.
Also, this story was originally submitted as a Post-Hogwarts story, but moved to the new Next-Generation category as that more accurately reflects its focus.
Chapter One - Confrontation
The darkness was complete: Harry could see nothing and felt the sinister gloom wrap around him like a malevolent snake threatening to strangle his last hope. He raised his wand to light the way, and for the first time in many years, the soft glow was unable to chase away the shadows.
It had been many years, too, since he had been in the Forbidden Forest. A sense of foreboding surrounded him like fog; the trees were a living presence that mocked his passage, while forest creatures crept around him, murmuring with unseen malice. Black roots leaped from the ground to trip him, and chill breezes whispered tauntingly, whipping the cloak around his ankles. Harry shivered and was transported back to his first journey into the forest, so long ago, and the paralyzing fear that had closed around him. And then another trip into the forest, many years after: a trip that had changed not only his own life, but perhaps the course of magical history—
He shook himself, forcing aside memories of the past to concentrate on the present. He felt a different fear pushing at the edges of his mind: the fear of loss tinged with despair, as well as the anger he always felt when death and magic threatened those he loved.
For that was what he fought once again: ancient magic and the desperate desires it promised to satisfy, when in truth it could never fulfill such dreams, but only warped the soul. Harry was not fighting his son, for Albus had been cunningly lead down a subtle path, lined with painful grief that made him vulnerable. He was not fighting Albus, but his son’s furious anguish, pain, and hopeless yearning for what he had lost.
A cry split the night nearby, startling Harry and sending goose pimples down his flesh. The beasts of the forest roamed invisible around him, seemed to haunt his every step. He steeled himself and raised his wand higher, desperately trying to drown out the dark with the dim light from his wand. A sudden longing for the Elder Wand surprised him, for he had given little thought to the Deathly Hallows for almost three decades; but they had, in part, drawn him back here, so it was only natural that he would find himself thinking of the magical talisman he had hidden away not far behind him on the grounds of Hogwarts.
Another lay lost in the dirt, dropped long ago, presumed lost forever. It was that object which drew Albus into the Forest, drove his last remaining hope over the edge toward obsession. But the ring Harry had lost during his final battle with Voldemort would not bring back his son’s loss, and Harry regretted ever telling his children the story of the Deathly Hallows, because it had given Albus such hopeless faith.
The third Hallow was tucked into his robes, an old habit he had never given up, and Harry fingered it as if to reassure himself that the cloak was still there. He shook his head of memories and remorse and plunged on into the shadows. He slowed as he heard quiet noise: the sound of the earth being overturned, and the restless muttering of his son, desperately digging for the Resurrection Stone.
Albus was covered in dirt; his arms were scratched, and his clothes were ripped and torn. He knelt on the ground in a familiar clearing, lit by a tongue of blue fire. It was the clearing where Aragog had once lived, where Voldemort and his forces had gathered for their last great battle. His wand tossed to the side, Albus clawed at the ground with his bare hands, throwing aside leaves and sticks and dirt, his face set with determination.
“Albus,” Harry called softly, lowering his wand and placing it in his robes so he would not appear threatening. The boy—the man—in the clearing looked up, and his face was hollow and gaunt from weeks of suffering in silence. The once sparkling green eyes had lost their brightness, and his mouth was a straight line of stoic sadness permanently etched across a pale face.
Albus gazed blankly at his father, scowled, then returned to his frantic work. “Go away, Dad.”
“Albus,” replied Harry, his heart breaking. “Come home. It’s not here. You can’t find it, it’s lost forever.”
Albus ignored him, and Harry moved into the clearing. “It won’t bring him back.”
Albus shot him a glare of anger over his shoulder as he picked up his wand and moved away to another section of the clearing to continue searching. “What do you know?” he snarled.
Harry felt his own prickly temper, near to the surface due to his anxiety and dark memories of this place, flare dangerously. “I’m the only one who knows,” he snapped, and then stopped himself. “I’m the one who used it, and it didn’t bring back my parents—only ghosts of the past.”
“It will work,” replied Albus, but this time his tone was softer, sadder. “It has to.”
Once again Harry felt his heart break for his son’s loss. He knew pain and knew what it meant to lose someone close—he had lost so many loved ones over the years it had been hard to go on at times. He knew what it could do to a person, and feared that Albus was dangerously close to allowing his pain to drive him too far.
“Nothing can bring the dead back to life, Albus,” he said gently. “Marcum is gone.”
“Don’t say that!” Albus cried, suddenly jumping to his feet and brandishing the Elder Wand at his father. Harry was too stunned to even react; his own holly wand remained in his robes and he simply showed Albus his upturned hands. Harry did not even ask how Albus had found his namesake’s wand, because of course he would have figured it out, he was a Ravenclaw; still, it would not work for him, for the wand’s allegiance still belonged to Harry, even after so many years. And even the power of all three Hallows would not bring Marcum back in the way Albus so desperately desired.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” said Harry, hoping his son could somehow feel his love and compassion. “I just want to help.”
“Help me find the ring,” said Albus flatly, still pointing the wand at Harry. Harry shook his head; he knew it wasn’t the answer, as much as he wished it were, for both of them.
“Then leave me alone,” Albus repeated, and turning his back, he left the clearing. Without another word he continued into the dark forest alone, as if trying to escape the confrontation.
Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, took another, and plunged into the woods after his son. He had not come so far only to lose him; he would do anything to save him, even if he had to use magic.
“Albus!” he called, but quickly realized his mistake in following. Albus turned and with a furious scowl he cried, “Locomotor Mortis!”
Years of fighting Dark wizards had honed Harry’s reflexes to lightning quick reactions: he whipped out his wand to cast a Shield Charm and just barely restrained himself from firing back.
“Albus!” he shouted as Albus turned and walked away once more. “You can’t fight me, you know that. I just want to help you.”
“I don’t need you!” Albus yelled over his shoulder, his face contorted in anger and grief. “Not unless you help me find the ring.”
“I won’t, because you know the Stone isn’t the answer. The Hallows won’t bring Marcum back to life!”
“Leave me alone!” Albus screamed, and fired another spell at Harry. Once again Harry blocked the spell, sending the jet of yellow light into the woods. Albus fired again and again, each spell growing more desperate, and each blocked by Harry’s shield as he slowly edged his way toward his grieving son.
Harry was surprised at the boy’s furious power, and finally bit his lip before he cast an Impediment Jinx at Albus, forcing the boy to ground. He ran up and kneeled next to him, arms reaching for his youngest son; but Albus pushed him away and rolled over, breathing hard. Harry felt his eyes sting with tears as Albus glared at him.
“I won’t give up, Dad,” he gasped, holding his side. “I can’t. Not when I know it’s possible—that I can at least see him again.”
Harry shook his head at his son’s painful stubbornness. “Al, you know the story. The Stone won’t bring him back to life, it will only bring back a pale shadow of who he was, trapping him between life and death.” Harry stood and offered his hand to help Albus up, but once more his son rejected him, and Harry tried not to let Albus see how much that hurt him. “He’s already moved on, don’t disturb his peace. He would be unhappy, and so would you.”
“You don’t understand,” Albus muttered, as he stood and moved away.
Harry lost his patience again. “The hell I don’t’!” he snapped, hoping to get Albus’s attention with harsh words if he could not with compassion. “I’ve lost more people than I want to remember. When my godfather died, I was devastated. I was desperate to find a way to bring him back. But it’s not possible, Al, and that’s okay.” He let his voice soften. “Death is but the next great adventure.” He smiled as he remembered Albus Dumbledore saying those words to him during his first year at Hogwarts; his son, however, grew angry again.
“An adventure? It’s an adventure for one, dad!” he cried. “How is that great for anyone—to be alone, in life and death?”
“Is that what you think? That you are alone?” asked Harry, feeling like he had been kicked in the stomach. How could Albus feel alone, when he had a loving family and friends who cared for him? Then he remembered the many times he had felt alone, and why, and began to understand his son.
Albus had gone to Hogwarts concerned about being Sorted into Slytherin. Instead of following his brother—and the rest of his family—into Gryffindor, he had been Sorted into Ravenclaw, where he had met Marcum, whose own family had traditionally been in Hufflepuff. Both placed into an unexpected House, they had forged a quick and strong friendship that had grown into much more over their years together.
Upon graduating from Hogwarts, Albus and Marcum had both joined the Ministry, renting a flat together in Muggle London just outside of Diagon Alley. Marcum had been killed not long after by a gang of Muggles, though not for being a wizard. Harry understood that Albus felt responsible for the attack, and guilty for not being able to save his partner, as hard as he had tried.
Though friends and family had tried to reach out and support him, Albus had spiraled into a deep depression and isolated himself. Rose, his cousin, suspected that a co-worker was whispering about retribution and revenge, and soon Albus’s grief twisted to hatred of the Muggles who had killed Marcum. He began to patronize Knockturn Alley with a crowd of young wizards who held their own prejudices against Muggles and frequently acted on them. Albus had been manipulated, and did not see the darkness gathering around him; for a while he had sought refuge from his pain in Dark Magic, though it did not alleviate his grief.
Soon, however, Albus had come to realize his unique knowledge of the Hallows might be his last chance to see Marcum once more, and he set out to forge a new path by retrieving them all—alone. James had tried to talk to Albus and had finally warned his parents that his brother was willing to risk everything. Harry had set out immediately to stop him, instinctively knowing where he would find Albus.
Yes, Harry understood his son, but like any young man caught in the whirlwind of powerful emotions, Albus would not believe that his father could understand what he was going through. He didn’t answer Harry’s question, only looked skeptical at the asking, so Harry continued. “I know you and Marcum were close, Albus, but there are so many other people who love you, you must see that you are not alone.”
Albus raised his eyebrows in scorn. “Like I said, Dad, you don’t understand. Go back home.”
“Come with me and explain,” pleaded Harry. “Help me understand.”
Albus appeared tempted as a number of emotions played across his face: grief, guilt, and love. Then anger appeared as he remembered his loss, and Harry saw the dark look in his son’s eyes as he shut down and closed his heart. There was only one thing he desired now: to master death with the power of the Deathly Hallows.
“No,” he said, shaking his head very calmly. “I’m not like you, Dad. I won’t accept it. I can’t walk away. Death is not the end.”
“You can,” Harry answered, hearing the desperation in his voice. “You can walk away from here and move on. We can help you.”
“I don’t want your help!” Albus shouted, backing away, his green eyes blazing now. “I want the ring. I won’t give up—I’m not like you!” He turned and walked away once more.
“You are exactly like me,” Harry said softly, and he knew the words cut when Albus stopped, his back stiff. “Only weaker.” He hated saying it, but needed to bring Albus back to him before it was too late; he only hoped he wasn’t pushing too hard.
Albus took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Dad,” he said, his voice equally as quiet. “I really am.” And without warning he turned and fired spell after spell, catching Harry off-guard this time. The first one glanced off his arm; the second he parried away. Before he even had time to cast a shield, Albus advanced on him, his wand a blur, his eyes frighteningly blank. Harry was taken aback by his son’s brute force and agile quickness, and found himself working hard to parry each spell. Finally, he was forced to cast a Stunning Spell, hoping to bring Albus down and take him home by force.
To his shock, Albus angrily parried the Stunner away, and rapidly fired three of his own, wearing down his father until a jet of red light finally hit Harry’s leg and he fell to the ground, numb. Albus cast a binding spell, sending thick white ropes around Harry’s lower body, and then cried, “Expelliarmus!”
Harry’s wand flew into his son’s hand. Albus looked at it with disinterest, and then tossed it behind him. “Now the Elder Wand is truly mine,” he said, his voice flat. He knelt down next to Harry and took the Invisibility Cloak from under his robes. “As is the Cloak. And I will find the Resurrection Stone, Dad.” Without another word he turned and Apparated out of the Forest, two Hallows tucked under his arm.
Harry let his head fall back to the ground and swore. Albus had bested him and left him trussed up alone in the woods. His son now had the Elder Wand and the Cloak; it was only a matter of time before Albus found the Resurrection Stone, for he had just proved he was willing to do anything to reunite the Deathly Hallows.
Harry had not only lost the duel, but had lost his son as well. He could only hope that Albus would find his way back before it was too late.
* * *
Chapter Endnotes: I have been sitting on this story for quite a while, debating whether or not to share it. There is more, obviously: how Albus came to be in the Forbidden Forest, and what happens after he leaves. I don’t know whether I will tell those stories next week, next month, or next year; but this scene spoke to me so strongly – this confrontation between Harry and his son – that I had to write it and share it. I do hope you enjoyed it, and hope that I can bring you the rest of the tale soon.