Chapters 211-220

At the Close

‘Put on the cloak,’ Severus instructed. ‘Since it once was a part of the Veil, it exists beyond life and death—it forms a bridge between life and death. Breaking this spell means sundering a connection between life and death. Leave the hood down, I don’t like talking to thin air.

‘Now use the Elder Wand to cast ‘Wingardium Leviosa’ and float the other half of the Resurrection Stone next to the first half.’ He scowled at Harry sideways. ‘Because if you can’t manage a simple spell like that in the Realm of Death, we are well and truly…’ He hesitated, shrugged, and added quietly: ‘Fucked.’

‘Right.’ Harry swallowed convulsively. Then he asked, ‘Can’t I use my own wand for that? I—it’s just—I don’t like the Elder Wand.’

He sounded as pathetic as he felt.

Somewhat to his surprise, Snape didn’t snap or snarl at him, but just asked calmly, ‘Have you forgotten that you’re not a Necromancer?’

When Harry only gulped in answer, he smirked slightly and went on, ‘For all that you’re a descendant of Ignotus Peverell, your magic will have no effect at all in the Realm of Death if it is channelled through an ordinary wand. But the Death Stick should work for you here just as well as if you were among the living. If not better. That is another reason why the ownership of the Elder Wand has been coveted by Dark Wizards for centuries. You can do much more with it than merely create an army of Inferi.’

Harry swallowed once more and quelled the nausea that twisted his stomach. He took a deep breath. Okay. Wingardium Leviosa. This is easy. I managed that one in my first year. I aced it in my Charms O.W.L.—I can do that.

Right. Easy.

Swish and flick.

And the proper pronunciation.

‘Win-GAR-dee-um lev-ee-OH-sa.’

For a second nothing happened and his stomach constricted. Then his heart skipped a beat as the second half of the Resurrection Stone gently lifted from the ground and began to float towards the other half.

‘Good. Now keep it there. Yes, just like that.’ Severus’ voice was steady and reassuring. ‘And now concentrate on joining the two halves together again. Focus your mind. No matter what happens, don’t lose control. If you manage to fuse the broken halves of the Resurrection Stone together again, the flow of magic from life into death will be stopped. The curse will be broken. Concentrate on making it whole. Imagine how it was before, you’ve seen it. You’ve held it—’

oooOooo

‘Concentrate. Focus. Discipline your mind.’ Severus glanced at the young man at his side, taking in his deathly pallor. The knuckles of Harry’s right hand stood out whitely. He was gripping the Death Stick so hard that the muscles of his forearm strained against the Severus’ arm and the magical bonds that tied their wrists together. But—Severus noticed with some measure of relief—his hand was trembling no longer. Harry held the Elder Wand firmly now, his stance unwavering.

Good. There was no room for doubt now. Or for hesitation. He had to keep Harry focused on the task at hand, to keep him from doubting himself, from wavering…Merlin—he almost snorted. He had to keep Harry from thinking about the consequences of his actions, of his failure or his success.

If Harry started thinking of what would happen to Dumbledore’s soul if he succeeded or of the all who would die if they failed, they were doomed.

Harry cast a nervous look at him out of the corner of his eye and gulped again, his Adam’s apple bobbing convulsively. ‘I—’ He choked out hoarsely and couldn’t continue.

‘Concentrate,’ Severus repeated with a calm he didn’t feel. ‘Focus. Master your mind. Calm yourself. You are not weak. You are strong.’

He remembered a tense situation of years before, when he had tried to teach Harry Occlumency with little to no success. How they had faced each other in anger, fear and pain. How his words had been almost painfully similar, and yet so different. And how Harry hadn’t listened to one word he’d been saying.

‘Right.’ Harry breathed noisily. ‘Concentrate. On fusing the stone together again. On making it whole. I can do that.’ Harry squared his shoulders and pointed his wand straight at the hovering halves of the Resurrection Stone.

Severus wanted to groan. The power is in your mind, not in your wand, Harry, he seethed silently. Out loud he said, keeping his voice soft and soothing: ‘Yes, you can do that. Calm your mind. Empty your mind of emotion. Take control of your power. Master your mind. Focus. You can do that.’

I hope, he thought. I—

I pray.

It cost him supreme effort not to show his own emotions, to keep the muscles in his left hand relaxed and from cramping with agitation. He could feel a vein pulse in his temple—but on the right side. Harry wouldn’t see it.

‘You are not weak,’ Severus repeated gently. ‘Just focus on the stone. And do it.’

oooOooo

Harry gazed at the floating halves of the Resurrection Stone. I am not weak. I can do this.

He sighed. Actually, I am weak. He adjusted his hold on the Elder Wand. But maybe I’m not too weak. If Severus thinks I can do this…

No, he realised. Another deep breath. I have to think that I can do this.

Concentrate. Focus—

On the two halves. On the whole stone.

The black stone with the jagged crack, as it lay in his hands within the golden shell of the Snitch. The heavy ring with its cracked gem, as he’d seen it in Snape’s memories, as he’d seen it on Dumbledore’s burnt and scorched hand. The shiny black pebble it must have been when Death first picked it up from the banks of the River of Death.

Shiny and black. Smooth and whole.

Harry closed his eyes.