In Fate’s Hands
Charlie Weasley flew through the wide front doors and down the stairs toward the huge blue dome situated across the school grounds. His red hair whipped across his face, blood pounded in his ears, and his heart beat ecstatically; but he didn’t care. All he could see, all he could hear, were his son’s tearful cries as the body of Harry Potter pulled him out of his father’s arms. Beside him, and just as frantic as he was, Professor McGonagall and Dean Thomas ran too, their eyes focused on the task at hand.
Charlie could not remember a time in his life when he had ever been more terrified than he was now. He had felt nothing close to this panic when he was six years old and had gotten lost in the ministry while visiting his father; he remembered how he had spent nearly three hours weaving between giant’s legs, making turn after turn down identical corridors, only getting more impossibly lost as he went along, until finally, his father had spotted him sitting quite desolately on the edge of the Fountain of Magical Brethren. He had never been this scared even throughout the long years of the war, even as he watched his closest family and friends murdered one after another. He had never felt close to this. But, when possibly facing the loss of one of his children … the agony was impossible. At this moment, he thought that he finally understood how his parents had felt twelve years ago when the first of their own sons had died.
As he kept getting closer to him, his last painful memory of his eldest son, imbedded now eternally in his mind, played in his head. A twelve-year-older Harry Potter, his eyes remarkably bloody red, grabbing Cory from his grip as they had stood in a standoff in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom; Leah and Gwen already unconscious on the floor; his son screaming as his dead uncle’s best friend jabbed a wand into his throat before Disapparating with all three of the children at once. He could still hear the high, cold projection of Voldemort’s voice emitting from Harry’s mouth. He heard, as clear and real as it had been not thirty minutes before, the shrill voice announcing that he was going to kill Cory because it would hurt the last remaining Weasleys, and what hurt the Weasleys would destroy Harry. Harry … who was still trapped and alive after all this time …
These horrible thoughts only spurred Charlie on to run faster. It was late “ the sun already gone to warm another place “ and the waning moon hung, a silent observer, in the dark sky. Ahead, he still saw Voldemort’s immense bubble-shield, encasing Cory and his two best friends within its circle. He saw their tiny shadows lying beneath it and McGonagall and Thomas must have too because all at once, as if by the guide of some silent signal, the three of them pulled out their wands as they continued to draw near.
And Voldemort guarded the bubble, facing towards it and away from them. His attention was drawn away from the direction which they approached by and so, presumably, he did not know they had arrived. They watched him pace in front of his cage, only feet behind him now.
McGonagall had her wand directed toward the middle of Voldemort’s back, “It’s over now, Tom,” she declared.
Tom Riddle turned to face them. His snake-like features “ only a flicker of a shadow on Harry’s thin face but there all the same “ held no show of fear or surprise at the appearance of the three before him. “I knew you could not stay away,” he replied.
Behind him, a slight movement in the bubble caught Charlie’s attention and he breathed quietly in relief. They were still alive, thank Merlin.
McGonagall spoke again, her voice fighting to remain calm. “Let the children go, Tom.” Her wand pointed straight at his heart. “Or we will make you.”
But Riddle just laughed coldly and his ruby eyes glowed in the dark with sick amusement. “And why would I do that, now?” he said. “I have waited … so long, for this moment. It would be a shame for it to end so soon, and without any reward on my part.”
“Have you enjoyed yourself?” Charlie heard himself say. His mind and his actions seemed to be somehow detached. A thin fog had settled over his judgement. “Have you found fun in torturing innocent children? And all for what... vengeance? Power ...?”
Voldemort smiled wickedly. “Indeed, it has been quite amusing.” He stopped his pacing and stood facing them head-on. He twirled his wand casually between two fingers.
“So, you have finally found out my little secret, have you?” he mused. “How many hints did you need? Two; Three; a dozen? It took these young ones,” He spared a cursory glance over his shoulder to the children in the bubble, “much less time to see that there was something ... not quite right, with their professor. And yet, when they voiced their concerns, you ignored them, even though the reality has been right before you the entire year.
“So what have you come out here for?” he asked, his voice rising. “You would not dare to kill me “ none of you are the prophesized one and that scares you; I can see you trembling even now as you stand. And you do not want to harm dear Harry’s body, as you don’t know whether or not he can still be saved. So, I ask you again, what do you think you can do?”
“You are not indestructible,” whispered Dean.
Voldemort chuckled, and Charlie shuddered to see such evil come out of Harry’s mouth. “And you think that the three of you are the ones capable of doing it, of destroying me? It was said that Harry Potter would have the power to do it … and look at where that has gotten him.”
“But we know now what we only thought we did then,” said Dean bravely. “We know everything.”
“We know what really happened twelve years ago,” McGonagall said. “You had two Horcruxes left, the snake and Harry, as well as whatever part of you resided within yourself. Dumbledore thought that if you killed Harry then the part of your soul inside of him would be destroyed, leaving Harry’s soul purely his own again and allowing him the chance to finish you once and for all.”
“But things didn’t work out as planned, did they?” said Charlie. “Everyone who died in place of Harry, for the chance that you could be defeated, acted like a shield against you when you cast the Killing Curse at him. Just like when he was an infant, and his mother sacrificed her life for him, he was protected from you by their loyalty, and you couldn’t hurt him anymore.”
“And that protection not only saved Harry,” Dean finished grimly, “but also spared the piece of your soul within him. So when your body was destroyed again, the part of you that was your conscious mind attached itself to the part of you already inside of him, doubling your hold over him; and that is why you have so easily possessed him since then. Harry was already vulnerable after so much death that day, and he stood no chance with that against him too.”
“And neither do you!” Voldemort cried. “You have nothing on me, any of you! I am the most powerful wizard in the world!”
“This is where you go wrong every time, Voldemort. The most powerful wizard would not be a coward, willing to do anything to escape death … he would’ve known that death was just the next great adventure. He would not have underestimated the power of “”
“The power of what, Weasley “ love?” he sneered. “Dumbledore’s age-old antidote for everything? Love is for the weak, the blind.” Voldemort started pacing back and forth again, agitated at their lack of ability to understand.
“Exactly,” said McGonagall. “Love and beauty, friendship and loyalty; they all have a capability which you cannot fathom, simply because you think that you don’t need them. For if you had understood them, then you never would have killed; you never would have done all that you have.”
But the man before them could not see. He was blinded by his own refusal; he who, never loved, could himself never learn how to love in return. Preoccupied and angry, he didn’t realize what the three before him were doing before it was too late, and even then, he didn’t believe he had anything to worry about. He was Lord Voldemort, after all, Master of Death.
Charlie and Dean raised their wands toward him just like McGonagall had done. Charlie started counting down, whispering, “One …”
“Two …” Dean answered at his side.
“Three …” McGonagall finished.
And together, they shouted their best hope to the heavens, and each of them prayed. It was time to put Leah Andrew’s plan to the test.
Dean’s spell shot out first, a sparkling white stream from the tip of his wand. It looked like a miniature Milky Way as it soared towards the man. It flew right into him, spreading through every part of him while the red-eyed fiend shrieked in fiery agony …
McGonagall’s wand let out a purple spell, which escaped over the heads of the four people and the large bubble-dome, hitting the iron lock on the huge front gates to the grounds of Kootenay Academy of Magic. The locks and the invisible wards shattered, the gate swung open wide, and a ghastly black-hooded form separated itself from the waiting army and drifted across the lawn. Voldemort seemed to freeze in terror and the dementor, that had previously so obediently awaited his bidding, swooped down upon its own master …
And last, Charlie drew all of his best, proudest memories to the forefront of his mind, letting them fill him up, warming him from the inside out: his wedding day and the births of all four of his children. They burned behind his retinas, sticking there, so he wouldn’t lose sight of them. A thought flickered in his head in the moment: that, all through the danger and disaster in his past, after the demise of his entire family, he had still managed to be happy and to live … a luxury that had grown increasingly rare for a lot of people in the last decade. With that encouragement, spurred on by hope, he cried out, “Expecto Patronum!” He watched in awe as the great silver dragon emerged from his wand and flew over and around Voldemort, stopping the dementor from veering off its course.
Their jobs done for now, Charlie, McGonagall and Dean all watched the spectacle unfolding before them. The dementor had now slipped its hood off of its head, revealing the ugly black near-nothingness that was underneath, where its face should have been. A hole like a mouth opened in the dark cloud as the dementor prepared for its meal.
And now, the body of Harry Potter with the eyes of Lord Voldemort was glowing, a shimmering white around the edges that reflected exquisitely from the faint shine of the moon above. Dean’s protection spell had taken effect. He collapsed onto the ground and the dementor knelt over him, tipping the head back to gain better access. As the dementor performed the infamous kiss of its kind, the joined souls of Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort began to rise into the air and right into the monster’s gaping mouth.
It was a sight unlike anything Charlie had ever seen the likes of. His dragon continued in its slow graceful arc around them, protecting but also imprisoning. But this sight was not even comparable to what was happening in the space between Voldemort and the dementor: in the arc’s centre, the dementor hovered over its prey, slowly lifting the soul out of the body. Like it was being forced by a magnetic pull, a soul of two distinct colours had appeared, pulled tautly between the two; half of it black, and the other pure, miraculous white. Voldemort’s coal black soul had attached itself to Harry’s, leaving his intact, sharing space inside of the host instead of taking it over completely.
When the division between the two souls had neared the dementor’s mouth, McGonagall aimed her wand at the spot and said, “Diffindo.” A streak of light exited her wand, passing through Charlie’s patronus on its way, and sliced the souls at the exact place where they joined. The black soul was quickly swallowed by the dementor, allowing Harry’s to fall back into his body. Charlie banished the patronus and the dementor, pleased with its feast, backed away.
There was a long beat of silence. Charlie, McGonagall and Dean stared, stunned, at the place where Harry lay slumped on the grass. Unnoticed for the moment, the dementor floated a couple of feet away, waiting; none of them saw as it started to shudder and shake uncontrollably.
A feeling of overwhelming relief and happiness stole over Charlie right then. It was over. Harry was saved, the Dark Lord was gone for good, and his son and his friends would all live. It was an almost blissful feeling, too good to actually be true. He could not move, he was frozen where he stood, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And then it did, alarmingly, as some noise became audible to the group. There was a hacking sound coming from the dementor; it looked as if it was choking. The three adults turned to the creature. It was shaking and heaving, its mouth opening, and then the recently ingested soul was coming out, forming in the air into the shape of a tall, thin, bald man with a snake-like face.
Nobody saw coming, or even registered what befell next until it was all over, and even then, they weren’t sure if they believed it. There was a stirring on the ground, a body sitting up and supporting itself on its elbows, raising a wand that had fallen beside him when the dementor had performed the kiss. Harry directed the wand at the vision of Lord Voldemort, whose old body was fuzzy and wavering about the edges, and Voldemort did the same. Charlie wondered how a spell could affect something that wasn’t really alive, but evidently, Harry hadn’t thought of that.
“Avada Kedavra,” spat Voldemort as he towered over his worst enemy.
“Priori Incantato!” cried Harry.
The two spells “ one green and the other red “ sped at each other at top speed, both very real, and met in mid-air. Harry and Voldemort clutched desperately at their wands, which had started vibrating violently, as a thin beam of golden light connected the two of them. Then that thread splintered and a thousand thinner golden threads diverged from it, arching high over the joined wands. Soon, they were encased in a shimmering, dome-shaped cage not unlike the one in which the children were still secured.
And then “ Charlie could scarcely believe his ears “ the most beautiful, enchanting noise filled the night, and it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The beam between them changed again: the spells were fighting each other, first heading for Harry, then for Voldemort, in some kind of exotic, melodious dance. And, as if all of this weren’t enough for a lifetime, something even stranger happened, and Charlie blinked furiously many times trying to convince his mind that this was real.
Shadowy forms were slowly emerging from Voldemort’s wand, one by one, pulling out from the tip and arranging themselves in a large protective circle around Harry. They were in the shape of people, some that Charlie didn’t recognize, but even more that he had only ever dreamed he would see again. There were men and women of varying ages and even a couple of children, and they all faced the incorporeal Voldemort like an army of ghosts. There was his mom and dad, most of his siblings, and Hermione. Some of the younger guards looked no older than Hogwarts students. He saw old professors and many, too many, old friends. But standing in the front, the most surreal of them all, stood two people holding hands, as if daring Voldemort to try and hurt their son one more time: James and Lily Potter.
As Charlie watched, the shadowy forms lifted their wands towards their opponent, who recoiled in fear. A young girl still in her teens with long, flowing hair turned around, however, and reached one translucent hand down to Harry, who sat up in wonder. Her hand gently skimmed his face, cupping his cheek, running over his scar, and she whispered softly to him, “It’s all right, Harry. You know what you have to do. We can buy you some time, but you have to break the connection. At just the right time, break the connection.”
“Ginny …” Harry sobbed.
“It will be all right, love. You’re almost done,” she replied, and her voice turned grim. “I know what really happened now, that day. I’m so sorry that I ever doubted you. I never really believed it, I couldn’t, but I should have realized the truth sooner on my own.”
“Ginny.” He reached for her, but his hand just slipped through her, and he cried out in anguish.
Ginny turned to her last remaining brother and beseeched to him, “Help him, Charlie. You have to look after him for us now,” and all Charlie could do was nod in silent agreement.
Then she turned away and took her place in the crowd of Harry’s dead loved ones, holding her wand out at Voldemort. “You bastard,” snarled Ginny, “I hate you! I hate you, I hate you!” A jet of light shot out from her wand right into Voldemort’s chest.
Lily Potter screeched from beside her husband, “How could you? He was a child! Just a child! You’re a monster!” A similar stream of light exited her wand and hit him too.
James, much calmer than his wife, but his wand hand shaking all the same as his own jet of light entered Voldemort, said, “It is time for you to pay for all your wrongs.”
The rest of the ghostly sentinels all exclaimed similar sentiments, light shooting out of their wands and entering Voldemort, who all the while was shrieking in pain. The light kept entering him, until he seemed to be almost glowing from it. Harry gazed longingly at the group of people surrounding him and then pulled his wand away so that the golden beam finally snapped, and Voldemort’s Killing Curse was striking Harry in the chest. As Harry collapsed, lifeless, onto the cool grass, Voldemort screamed a final time and dissolved into the air; a second later, nothing may have ever been there at all, as the ones who had come out of Voldemort’s wand disappeared.
Whatever it was that had held Charlie, Dean and McGonagall back before broke in that instant. Voldemort’s bubble-shield burst with a pop and Charlie rushed towards his son crying, “Cory! Cory!”
After a minute, McGonagall ordered quietly, “Charlie, take the children up to the castle. Madam Pomfrey will look after them from there.” Charlie conjured three stretchers and lifted the kids onto them, charming each so that they floated ahead of him. With a strained look over his shoulder to where Harry’s body lay on the ground, he followed them across the lawn to the castle doors.
“And Professor Thomas,” she looked to her right where the Charms teacher stood. “Come help me with Mr Potter over here.”
Harry wasn’t breathing, Dean could see that immediately. He dropped to the dewy ground beside McGonagall, the wetness from the grass soaking through his trousers to his knees. The headmistress, Dean was shocked to see, was trying in vain to hide the tears building in her eyes, and Dean found himself fighting his own back too.
“Minerva, he was hit with the Killing Curse. There’s nothing we can do.”
The normally stern and composed woman shook her head furiously. Wisps of her gray hair had fallen loose of her tight bun and they got across her eyes, forcing her to shove them away impatiently. “No, no …” she murmured, “he’s going to be just fine.”
Dean was losing his patience. “He’s dead!” he nearly screamed at her, panicked, though he was sure she still couldn’t grasp his meaning. “He’s dead and he’s not coming back!”
“He has survived it before!” she snapped back, glaring murderously at him. Then gentler, “He will be all right.”
“Well then, what do you propose we do?”
She didn’t say anything, but she leaned over Harry’s body and started pumping his chest with her hands over where his heart lay. She parted his lips and blew into his lungs, breathing for him. After a few seconds she pumped his heart again, but it was no use, his chest refused to rise.
Dean thought that she had gone quite mad; he’d never seen her like this before and he had a feeling that if it was anyone but Harry, she would be a tad bit more rational right now. He wondered also how she knew how to do Muggle CPR, but decided that there was time for questions later.
“Come on, Potter,” McGonagall growled low in her throat. She gave him a couple of more breaths and pulled back.
Dean joined in, just as desperate, pushing her out of the way so that he could force Harry’s chest to move harder and faster. “Come on, Harry, you can do it,” he panted. “Don’t give up now.”
They continued on like that for several more minutes: McGonagall and Dean taking turns breathing for Harry and both of them futilely encouraging him. Finally, after what seemed like hours, McGonagall leaned away to give her lungs a break. The moon was suspended high in the sky, a few lights shone from the castle windows behind them, and the stars twinkled in their black blanket above. The two teachers sat back, hope fading, the victory of earlier feeling pointless, and trying to figure out if the efforts from the past years had been worth it if it was only destined to end like this. Behind them, the bell in the topmost tower of the school tolled “ once, twice, a dozen times it sang. There was a single, heavy gasp beneath them and they both started. And as the hour hand announced the beginning of a new day, Harry Potter finally breathed.
The hospital wing was oddly eerie later that night when Leah poked her head inside the door. It was as if all of the pain and confusion of these last few months had been gathered up, like they were a physical entity “ something she could easily reach out and touch “ and let free to roam in this tiny room. She had been discharged after a quick once-over by the school nurse and sent off to bed almost at once, but Cory and Gwen had been forced into staying overnight: Gwen, with a minor concussion from falling on the hard ground, and Cory while his broken leg, the work of Professor Masen, healed.
But it wasn’t really Masen, she corrected herself immediately; it had been You-Know-Who possessing Harry Potter’s body, constantly keeping up the disguise of a strict professor through glamour charms and allusions. Leah looked around the hospital wing, searching for her friends. On the farthest bed away from her was the curled up shadow of Mr Potter, asleep, his body compressed as he subconsciously sought relief from his pain. But Leah wasn’t here for The Boy Who Lived now. On a couple of beds closer along the wall laid Cory and Gwen, sleeping serenely, both with slight smiles on their closed lips.
She tiptoed carefully to the chair between their two beds, sitting gingerly upon it, being cautious not to wake them. She sighed. They were her best friends, and she could not have lost them. The thought alone of what could have happened …
Images played in her mind on a constant loop, each making her sicker than the last: Voldemort grabbing her and Gwen and throwing them on to the hard office floor beside Cory; Cory, clutching his leg as it stuck out at an unnatural angle. Fighting; crying; and then Voldemort waving his wand ... and nothing, until she was waking up in her own bed in the hospital wing, a million people crowded around her.
“Miss Andrews,” sounded a familiar voice suddenly from behind her and Leah jumped, startled, and turned around only to find Headmistress McGonagall, her lips pressed into a thin line, staring at her. “It is well past time you got yourself a watch, don’t you think?” she demanded. “You were released several hours ago.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Leah murmured, ducking her chin as her cheeks blushed rouge. “I mean, s-sorry Ma’am. I just wanted to see “ to make sure they were okay …”
The headmistress’s eyes softened marginally and she gazed sympathetically down at Leah before glancing over to the man in the far bed and then back again. The headmistress was displaying more emotion in front of her now than Leah had ever seen in her before, and she knew, without a doubt, that it was because of this lost and found hero right here. “I quite understand, child, believe me, I do. But there are visiting hours for a reason.”
Leah didn’t think it wise to point out that she was here after hours just as much as Leah was but, she supposed, being the Head of a magic school gave you some privileges over the students.
“I know,” she replied instead, standing up slowly. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Good girl. Off to bed with you, then.”
Leah sneaked a last look at Cory and Gwen’s peaceful faces before turning on her heel and preparing to leave.
“Oh, and Miss Andrews?” called McGonagall again. Her gaze remained fixed on Harry’s slumbering form. “Thank you.”
Leah nodded before letting the door snap closed behind her. She leaned back against the brick wall beside it and at that moment her carefully held composure finally broke: she collapsed onto the cold stone floor, sobbing until her eyes burned red, her throat was scratchy, and her stomach ached in protest.