Chapters 211-220

Avra Kehdabra

‘I give you: Ginny Weasley!’ Gwenog Jones pulled Ginny up from her seat.

The players and the witches and wizards working for the team (a veritable army: broom technicians, fitness instructors, healers, Quaffle girls and diet cooks to name but a few) erupted into cheers. A group of fans of the male persuasion whistled appreciatively, while a young girl who’d come with her mother to watch the Harpies at ‘The Green’—the team’s favourite pub in Wales—got a dreamy-eyed look.

Ginny forced a smile. She felt how the corners of her mouth quivered. Her grin was turning into a grimace, crumbling at the edges.

Underneath the table, she balled her hands into fists.

To her surprise and dismay, she’d been able to fly today, and fly well. She’d attempted to outfly her fears and worries, and for a moment or two she’d almost succeeded. Flying with the Harpies had been demanding, gruelling, exhilarating…just great. This was Quidditch how she’d always envisioned the game. Precise, lightning-fast, perfect moves.

But how could she have enjoyed Quidditch today of all days?

It was pure torture to raise her glass with a proud and dashing ‘Cheers!’

Where is he now, Ginny wondered. Is he still alive at all? But of course he is. He’s Harry Potter. Surviving against all odds is his specialty. And me sitting at home worrying would have accomplished exactly nothing.

She forced her hands to relax and concentrated on offering Gwenog the happiest smile she could manage. ‘I had a great time today,’ she told her future team captain.

And it wasn’t even a lie.

oooOooo

At the White Horse near Uffington, the seconds ticked by with excruciating slowness.

On a rational level Hermione knew that time was moving no slower and no quicker tonight than ever. But on an emotional level, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that the slender golden hand of her watch had simply ceased moving.

She shivered and drew her legs closer against her body. Madame Dubois had transfigured a silken handkerchief into a warm woollen blanket for Hermione to sit upon. But not even that helped much against the cold that was seeping from the white stone beneath her. She’d probably walk away from this picnic with one hell of a bladder infection.

Behind her, Ron was whispering furiously at Lois, and Hermione really didn’t want to contemplate what they were arguing about. Alina giggled nervously about something Madame Dubois said.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and hid her face in her arms. I wish this was all over, she thought. I just want it over.

She had to bite down on her lower lip to keep her teeth from chattering. Not just because of the cold. Nausea twisted her stomach. Her hands cramped around her wands.

But she felt nothing. Beyond the Veil, Severus was too far away for her wands to register what he was up to—Sempiternal Solution or no.

There was nothing she could do but wait and hope.

oooOooo

Cold darkness closed in on Harry. Heavy stillness seeped into his limbs. His consciousness tightened and shrunk, narrowed down to a tiny speck of black colour. His heartbeat slowed. The blood froze and hardened in his veins.

Feeling, breathing, the churning of his stomach stopped. Life as he knew it became meaningless.

A stone. A small stone. Cold and still and small and black and hard.

And whole.

oooOooo

In the endless grey twilight above the Asphodel Meadows a white owl was circling. Her wide wings beat the still air with powerful strokes. Her flight was bright against the empty sky.

Somewhere far below a man in black clutched a still, frozen figure in a desperate, tight embrace.

oooOooo

In a small, rectangular chamber deep within the Department of Mysteries a tattered black curtain was billowed by an invisible breeze. Voices whispered along its ragged seams, as it floated from Death into Life.

And back.

oooOooo

Somewhere a soul floated motionless in the dark. Invisible ties tethered it to the earth. A curse weighed it down.

And regret. Heavy as the curse, and thrice as bitter. For deeds that could not be undone, words that could not be unsaid. But worse was the weight of what he ought to have done, but failed to do. Of words he should have spoken, but neglected to voice.

Suddenly, without warning, it was over.

Light burnt away the darkness.

Nothing remained.

oooOooo

Souls have no form and no speech. Invisible and silent they drift across the Asphodel Meadows that lie beyond the Ninth Gate, beyond the Veil. Whither they go, nobody knows.

Scentless and silent the white flowers of these meadows bloom.

Severus knelt on the ground. Awkwardly he held the still, stony body of his companion in his arms. Silence enveloped them in a cold, grey shroud.

oooOooo

A single word broke the silence, shaped life within death.

‘Harry,’ Severus whispered. And again: ‘Harry!’

The sound of his voice echoed harsh and broken across the silence of the Asphodel Meadows. A third time: ‘Harry…’

oooOooo

‘Potter, damn you all to hell and back, start breathing and open your eyes this instant!’

oooOooo

‘Yes, sir.’ Harry gasped for breath, sputtered, convulsed with a cough, sank back weakly into Severus’ embrace. ‘What happened?’

‘You tried to turn yourself into stone and you damn near succeeded, you bloody fool.’

‘Oh.’ Harry took a careful breath. His chest expanded slightly on the inhalation, straining against Severus’ arms. He held his breath for a moment, long enough to feel the slow, sure beat of his heart. Then he exhaled again, growing limp and relaxed. ‘Oh.’

He swallowed. Obviously he wasn’t a stone now. He tried to smile with relief. Even that slight movement felt odd, as if his muscles were completely unused to the exercise.

‘And the curse?’ Harry had to force himself to ask this question. Although the answer seemed pretty obvious—a botched attempt at self-transfiguration could not possibly have any effect on cursed objects.

Severus scowled at him.

‘Broken.’