A Lingering Glimpse

He walked through the familiar hallways, running a hand along the weathered walls as he let his mind wander back through the years. These old stones had seen it all: generations of laughter, tears, love, and hatred. Friendships made and lost, betrayals and saviors, loses and gains. He could feel the memories and life stories of thousands pulsing beneath his hands as he touched the cool stones, and knew that somewhere in there were memories of his own lifetime, of the seven years that he had spent wandering through those old, enchanted, stone corridors.

He stopped abruptly as he reached his destination, smoothing his fingers over the worn doorframe before hesitantly stepping through. The room was as it had always been, perhaps a little mustier and more worn out then he remembered, but his eyes, lost in another time and place, saw none of that. The desks were gone of course, taken along with so many other things when the school had closed so long ago, but the room itself, the feel, the smell; to him it was exactly as it had been some sixty years ago. A small smile sprang to his lips as his eyes lingered on a small nook in the corner of the far wall. In his day the hole had been hidden, but now it stood glaringly obvious in the bare room for the entire world to see. Like so many other things now, no longer a secret.

He sighed tiredly. Years ago he would have flown into a mad rage, had done so in fact, raw emotion tearing at his face, his voice lost in anguish. But that was years ago. He had seen so much since then, too much perhaps, and he had no more strength left within for rage or grief, or even regret. Now it was enough just to remember. Remembering brought them back, if only for a while, brought them back in a way that rage or grief or regret never could. Walking silently to the small alcove, he knelt before it, laying wrinkled hands against the wall and closing his eyes in concentration. Long ago he had learnt to listen to the old enchanted stones, had learnt that the gift they gave was more precious then anything he could ever find in three of his lifetimes. Because, in a way, that was what they gave. Life.

They came slowly at first, snatches of laughter and vibrant faces, blurred colors, a whirlwind of emotions. Sometimes when he came, he let the memories wash over him like that for a while, sometimes he visited other times and places and people that he had never known. They all had their own stories, their own lives, and he had listened and watched so many. He never felt like an intruder, for such things as privacy were important no longer. He was a life giver, letting them live through him, letting their pasts survive through his eyes. He had even seen his father a few times, and though the memories weren't' always pleasant, they weren't all bad either. Like his own life.

He set his wandering mind back on track. Today he had a purpose. He had to find them. After all this time it was finally time to lay her to rest. Lay all of them to rest.

He watched the three of them stride towards him; the girl, bushy hair flying behind her and her face lit in an exuberant smile; the red headed boy, tall and gangly and blushing slightly as the girl grasped his hand; the boy with glasses, watching the two of them in mild amusement, his green eyes looking far older then the some seventeen years that he had seen. They didn't notice him, they never did. He wasn't part of their lives, but merely an observer. Watching and storing the memories.

The girl turned to her two companions, and her smile faded a bit.

"I hope things will always be like this," she said quietly and turned her head.

The red head looked at her in mild panic and confusion.

"What's wrong Hermione?" he asked, bewildered at her sudden mood swing.

She shook her head slightly.

"Nothing, I guess I'm just being silly. But... what with everything going on, and V-," she took a deep breathe and squared her shoulders, "Voldemort's return, I'm so afraid..." she trailed of into silence, unable to finish the thought that had been weighing on all of their minds since the beginning of term.

The raven-haired boy turned to her fiercely.

"Things won't always be the same, Hermione, but no matter what we'll always have each other. The three of us. Voldemort may have returned, but I beat him before, haven't I? And I'll fight with everything I have in order to do it again."

The redhead was deathly pale, but he put a hand on his companion's shoulders, his own eyes shining determinedly.

"We all will, mate," he said, and suddenly Hermione pulled them both into a fierce hug, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"And in the end, we'll come back to each other," she whispered, and neither boy questioned her odd statement. All three felt the power of that moment, as did the silent observer and he smiled slightly, nodding his head as the image began to fade and mold into another.

"Remember, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger," he whispered, and his words were lost as another memory enveloped him.

A very old man stood in the middle of the hut, long silver hair and beard glinting in the moonlight that streamed from the single window. His blue eyes glinted behind half-mooned spectacles as he spoke very loudly and clearly.

"You will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

The other men standing around him gaped, but their faces began to swirl and fade until the old, bespectacled man was sitting in what seemed to be an office of some kind, a woman with a severe bun an strict face sitting across from him.

"Oh, Albus," she said, her eyes desperate, "what are we going to do?"

He looked at her sternly.

"We will do exactly as we have always done, Minerva."

"But they want to close the school!"

"This school is a place of learning, my dear Professor, but learning does not merely exist from text books and study. Life itself is learning, and I believe our students have done well. Whether the school stays open or not, our youth will continue live and learn, perhaps more valuable lessons then we could ever teach them. Some already have. Hogwarts can never truly be closed, my dear, until there are none who remember what it is, what it was, and what it always will stand for."

"Remember, Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall," a voice whispered as the images shifted and faded. More memories passed before him, each powerful in their own way, and after each of them a remembrance was whispered. Tears coursed their way down the man's face and his hands trembled against the stones he touched at the enormity of his task. Taking a deep breath he struggled to hold onto his control, finding strength within him for one more. One last time, he promised himself, before giving himself over completely, letting this one and final memory envelope and flood his senses.

A giggle of laughter, a flash of red hair. A boy leaned casually against a great oak, his silvery hair falling just so into gray eyes that followed her every move. A smirk twisted its way onto his face as she strode resolutely towards him, her laughter fading into a bemused smile.

"Stare much, Malfoy?" she asked him, her own chocolate eyes challenging his depthless gray ones.

His smirk broadened.

"Can't stay away, can you Weasley? Sure you aren't afraid of the big, bad, Malfoy?" His eyes met her challenge, amusement flickering in the steely iris'.

She rolled her eyes at him.

"I'd rather think that you'd be the one who was afraid. What with every single last one of my brother's out for you blood," she said, and it was her turn to smirk at his suddenly panicked expression.

"They know?" he asked her, and then snarled at her as she dissolved into laughter, grabbing her suddenly and pressing his lips to hers.

When he let her go she grabbed at his robes faintly, and then, coming back to her senses, glared at him.

"Draco!" she hissed. What was he thinking?

"Do you love me, Gin?" he asked and she gasped.

"I thought Malfoy's didn't believe in love," she said carefully.

"Just answer the question," he snapped, and she glared at him.

"So, basically you want me to offer you my heart on a platter, so you can chomp it up in your big dragon jaws?" she asked.

"Damn it, Gin, your as difficult as those bloody brothers of yours. Will you just answer the question?"

"No," she said, and she saw his eyes close to her, his mouth draw into a thin line and his arms stiffen. "No, I will not answer your question until you answer it yourself. Do you love me, Draco Malfoy? Because that's what this is really about. You're the one who supposedly doesn't believe in love, and I refuse to toss my heart at your feet!" She could feel the beginning of tears. She did love him, damn it, she loved him more then anything, but she knew he'd never admit that he loved her. That was the first thing he had ever told her. Malfoy's didn't believe in love. Well, she'd be damned if she let him make a fool out of her emotions. She looked up at him just in time to see him smirk.

"You do love me," he said.

She shook her head, and refused to look at him.

"Malfoy's don't believe in love, Gin. At least, they didn't until you came along."

She chanced a glance up at him and saw that he had grown serious.

"I-" he paused, and took a deep breath. "I love you, Ginny Weasley," he said finally.

She smiled up at him and stood on her tippy toes to whisper in his ear.

"I love you too, Draco. But you said it first!"

He laughed then and hugged her fiercely.

"Don't ever leave me, Gin," he said urgently, and she shook her head.

"I could never," she said, and his eyes bore into her.

"Never?"

"Never."

The images swirled and the watcher could feel himself falling, falling, until he landed some feet away from a dark figure bent over something on the cold ground.

"Damn it, you said you'd never leave me!" the figure shouted, throwing back his head and howling in anguish. The watcher felt himself tremble. How he had ended up in this memory he didn't know. He had locked it away long ago, locked it away along with his grief and sorrow and anger and thrown away the key. But somehow, here he was again, and he felt himself step toward the two figures, one hand outstretched.

No. He stopped and pushed away the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. This, this didn't matter. This one moment in time, this one memory meant nothing. He had loved her, still loved her. And because of that he would do this, he would finish the task she had set for him, she and so many others that now counted on him. Taking a deep steadying breath he let go of the memory, choking as he tried to find his voice.

"Remember, Ginny Weasley," he whispered brokenly as he faded slowly out of the memory.

Slowly he rose and stepped back from the wall, drawing a softly pulsating amber stone from his pocket.

The magical ways were dying. The dark lord had been defeated, but with him had gone the best wizards and witches to have walked the earth in centuries. Those who had survived had been scattered and few, and then even more had died, becoming victims of outraged muggle hunters or grief. Magic was torn from the land, Hogwarts being the first of many magical schools to close, the wards guarding the most sacred of magical places failing and being overrun by muggles. The man sighed. It was sad, so sad, but he no more strength left for mourning. Mourning could not bring back what had been lost. He clutched the stone tightly as he remembered Ginny's dying words.

She had been hit with a dozen curses, and her beautiful face was contorted with pain as she gripped his hand with all the strength she could muster.

"Draco," she rasped, "Draco, listen to me. I'm dying."

He shook his head but she cut him off before he could say anything.

"I'm dying and there's nothing that can be done about it," she said, pausing for breath as she gasped with the pain. "But you must listen to me, trust me and believe in what I tell you. This war is almost over, but so much has been lost, and so much more will be lost in time. Draco, everything that we have known will change, has changed. As we die, parts of the magic die with us. And with so many dying... so much is going to be lost. Not only people, Draco, but the very essence of magic. Individual deaths, like mine, mean nothing. But all together..." she trailed off coughing.

"Ginny-"

"No!" she said fiercely. "Listen to me, damn it! I had a dream. I had a dream and before- before he died, I went to Dumbledore." Tears streamed down her cheeks but she ignored them. "I went to him and told him about it and what I thought it meant. And he agreed with me. He agreed with what must be done, and now I cannot be the one to do it. All the others, they're gone Draco. There is only you. Will you do this for me?"

He stared at her in disbelief, wondering if she had gone mad from the pain. But he nodded anyways. He had never been able to deny her anything.

"Everything is going to change, Draco, and the magic is going to die. But there will always be a glimmer of it, a faint memory as long as those touched by it live on. As each of us die we leave behind glimpses of our lives that linger in places we have been. Those memories, those pieces of our lives, are the most powerful form of magic there is. We ourselves are not important. It's what's inside of us. What lives on when we are gone. You must choose, Draco, choose the important ones, the most powerful memories and save them. Remember them."

He was staring at her.

"Reach into my pocket," she said faintly, and he drew out a small, amber crystal. "It is a memory holder," she told him. "Do not loose it. When it seems there is no hope left, when everything has gone, then you must use it. Draco... all will seem lost. You, along with the rest of the wizarding world will despair. I have seen it. I have seen you alone, maddened into a frenzy... grief will not bring me back. Anger cannot restore what has been lost. Only the memories are important. Go back to Hogwarts," she whispered, fading fast.

Tears streamed down his face.

"Hogwarts is nothing more then an empty shell," he said flatly.

"Go back, promise me that. Promise!"

He nodded slowly, and finally she smiled at him.

"I know you don't understand, but you will. Hope, Draco. Never loose hope." she said, before her eyes fluttered closed. "I love you."

The old man wiped a final tear from his eye before raising the stone high and starting to chant. He could not bring them back. No one could. But maybe someday, far in the future, someone would be born with a spark of what had once been running through their veins. And maybe, with the right help, they could bring back what had been lost and restore the world to what it once had been. Maybe.

He smirked, a shadow of his old self flickering across his face, and shook his head. Years ago he would have laughed and called it all madness. But that was years ago. A new word had been added to his vocabulary since then. Hope. That's what Ginny had said. Never loose hope. Hope, that someday things could once again be as they were. Hope, that the memories he had salvaged held enough life and power to keep the hopes of an entire people alive. Hope.

Quietly, he laid the crystal in the small nook and turned to leave. He had done as he had promised, and finally, after all these years, he himself could rest.

As he was leaving something to the right caught his eye and he turned. A giggle caught his ear and he could have sworn he saw a flash of red, but just as quickly it was gone.

Muttering he headed for the door, not feeling the chocolate stare that smiled proudly at his back as he left.

"As each of us die we leave behind glimpses of our lives that linger in places we have been. Those memories, those pieces of our lives, are the most powerful form of magic there is. We ourselves are not important. It's what's inside of us. What lives on when we are gone," a faint voice rustled on the wind. "Rest now, Draco. Rest."