Chapters 181-190

…And Answers

Later Harry wasn’t able to say how much time they’d spent quizzing Dumbledore via Dobby about all of these questions and a score of others. It could have been hours, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d spent days or even weeks at it. When they were done, Dobby looked as grey as the vegetation of the Asphodel Meadows, and Harry had a headache the size of Hogwarts. But at least, he figured, they had managed to clear up the most salient questions. Sort of.

Professor Dumbledore wasn’t quite sure, but he believed that when the curse that paralysed him had been set up originally, it was meant to use his immortal soul as a container for the magical energy leeched from the Muggle-born witches and wizards. At that time, the Resurrection Stones had acted as mere valves or conductors. They had only channelled the stolen magical energy. But then the curse had been manipulated, turning the two halves of the Resurrection Stone into vessels. For a time, enough of the stored energy had been used to keep the curse stable. But—probably since Umbridge had died—no magic was drained from the Stone anymore. Eventually the Stone would reach the limit of its capacity, and as Dobby put it, ‘bad things’ would happen. Though when exactly that would be the case remained everybody’s guess. Probably not within days. But they might not have a week to waste.

Dumbledore had no idea who the Necromancers were, or how they had found him. Apparently, time and space had little meaning for souls, which made it difficult for Dumbledore to even keep the sequence of events in order.

He also did not know where the other half of the Resurrection Stone or the Elder Wand was, though he guessed that Umbridge had somehow gained possession of both items.

And he refused to answer Harry’s question about how to turn stone into gold or to comment when Harry asked him about how much damage a man’s soul might be able to withstand.

oooOooo

‘Well,’ Harry muttered at last. ‘I think we’re done here for the time being. We should get back to the Gate.’

‘I certainly have no objections to that suggestion,’ Snape replied wearily. Deep shadows bruised his eyes and his face was about as pale as the asphodel blossoms.

‘Uh, sir? Would you mind bending down a little?’

Severus frowned, but he followed Harry’s request. Harry knelt down and hugged Dobby once more. ‘Thank you for your help, Dobby. We’ll be back.’

‘Oh, Harry Potter, sir,’ Dobby sniffled. ‘Such joy! Such happiness!’

Harry got to his feet again and stared at the Resurrection Stone where it floated almost unnoticeable among the sprawling mint-bushes and the flowering asphodels.

‘Good-bye, Professor Dumbledore.’ He didn’t know what else to say. It hurt to realise that if he were able to talk to Dumbledore face to face here and now, he might not be able to forgive him as quickly as he had been in the half-imagined train station of his personal death.

Next to him, Snape looked down his nose at Dobby. To Harry’s surprise, Severus looked almost kindly upon the elf. ‘Thank you for most gracious service.’

Dobby glanced up timidly. ‘Such honour, sir!’ he squeaked and positively flattened himself on the ground in an expression of elfish delight. ‘Such honour!’

Then Severus followed Harry’s example and turned to the Resurrection Stone. Again Harry noticed how the spidery blue vein at the older man’s temple pulsed with barely suppressed agitation.

‘Dumbledore,’ Severus said at last, his voice cracking slightly, the soft-spoken illusion of composure slipping at last. ‘I have received the Christmas gift you sent me. I…do appreciate it…Though now I have to wonder quite how often you expect my soul to rise like the proverbial phoenix from the ashes you seem so determined to reduce me to.’ Then he whirled around and snapped at Harry, ‘Don’t stand there, gaping. Send off that damn owl to show us the way back to the Gate.’

oooOooo

Harry was weary to the bones when the lone archway of the Gate finally appeared in the distance. He was, pun entirely intended, tired to death. And Snape seemed to be in no better shape. Since they’d turned their backs on the Resurrection Stone, he hadn’t said another word, while they trudged mile after mile through the silent gloaming of the Asphodel Meadows. Relief mixed with regret surged through him as he watched Hedwig soar into the grey sky above the Gate and disappear. But all in all he was more than ready to return to the lands of the living.

It was probably this mixture of exhaustion and anticipation that distracted him. When Snape stopped abruptly, Harry staggered. ‘What’s the matter? We’re nearly there!’

‘Don’t you hear that?’ Severus whispered urgently.

‘What?’ Then Harry’s heart skipped a beat before starting to race with terror.

Apart from the voice bestowed upon Dobby by Snape’s Necromancy and the soft swish of Hedwig’s wings, Death had been completely and utterly silent so far.

Now it was silent no longer.

The strange, strangled sound of a hurdy-gurdy flowed over the plains in endless, droning chromatics.

As they approached the Gate, suddenly a figure stepped out of the shadows of the archway. It appeared to be an old man, but Harry couldn’t be sure—the haggard features of the person before them remained hidden in the gloom that surrounded them. He was tall and thin, but he stood bent over forwards with a painfully crooked back. His fingers were spidery, long, thin and deathly white, as they danced over the keyboard, pressing down the tangents to produce his weird, sonorous melody. He was dressed in the remains of a ragged black cloak that barely covered his bony shoulders and hunched back.

Suddenly the music stopped, and the figure lowered the instrument.

‘You have something that belongs to me,’ a reedy voice rasped. ‘And I would like to have it back.’