Plans of a Madman

Chapter 1--He is Just Away

"If I die out there, make sure I'm not cremated, would you, Albus?"

"Harry, what are you talking about?"

"Please, just assure a nervous young man."

"As you wish, Harry."

They paced the tent side by side, heads bent in thought. The wizarding world was about to go through its first official full-scale battle of good against evil in years, and all were nervous, jumpy, and worried; everyone was tense in the lull before the storm.

Dumbledore patted Harry on the shoulders, a slight twinkle appearing once more in his eyes. "I know you will do your best, Harry; you always have, and I have no doubt you will now." He smiled wanly, then left the tent to Harry, who was left all alone.

He stood in solitude for a long while, toying with a small vial of potion he had taken out of his pocket. He turned it in his hands a few last times. Well, it's now or never... He swiftly uncorked the vial and downed the greenish liquid in one gulp. He cleaned the vial with a quick spell and wiped off his fingerprints, then made it disappear into thin air. He strode out of the tent, ready to face the inevitable. It was time.

As he walked outside, he saw the lines beginning to form. There they all were, or at least, those that were left; so many had already been lost. Neville had been one of the first to go, personally slaughtered by Lestrange. Just the thought of that name--Lestrange--made his blood boil. Fred Weasley also died in a valiant effort to save his brother, Charlie, who was killed two weeks later. George still hadn't gotten over it. No one had gotten over any of the deaths, and they probably never would fully.

He made his way to his own position at the head of the front on the right flank. He whipped out his wand, a set mask of determination on his face.

He felt a little tug on his camouflaged robes. A little voice accompanied it. "Good luck, Mister Harry, sir." He looked down to see his guest just a few weeks before. He wore a little black robe, and smiled up at Harry.

"It's Harry, remember?" He smiled down at James Boyd one last time. But before James could reply, his mum was tugging him away quickly. He winked at James and ruffled his hair, a look in his eye that was simply unmistakable: the look of a man resigning himself to death. James and Harry shared one last look in the eyes before they were both forced to turn the other way: the one because his mother picked him up, and the other because he was about to face his destiny, the path he had chosen for himself. Whether good or bad, he did not know, but he did know he had made the choice, and there was no turning back now.

They all stood, shoulder to shoulder in a line, waiting for their fates to be sealed forever. He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Good luck, Harry," said the voice beside him.

"Same to you, Albus." He smiled wryly at his mentor. "May this be the beginning of the end, Albus, and may life someday be as light and carefree as it was years before." Albus smiled, then scanned the horizon. Tiny black dots were soon becoming a long black line. He straightened, the hand now off the shoulder of the young man and on the old man's wand. Moments later, all the hells known and unknown broke loose.

*** *** ***

Night had finally fallen over the battleground, signaling a quick and brief time of respite, for all would begin anew the next morning at sunrise, if not earlier. This was the time to regroup and strategize, to take a count of those who were living and those who were dead. Many were busy, checking to see whether their close ones had been killed or not.

It was during this time when his body was discovered, lying alone on the battlegrounds, wand still grasped tightly in his hands. Ginny found him, actually, and her heart shattered into tiny pieces. He had been such a good friend before, maybe even more than just a friend...oh, who was she kidding; she had loved him, and had thought he had loved her back...the Savior of the World had left her and now here he was, dead and gone to this world. The sight sickened her.

She ran from the sight and heralded the news loudly, mixed with sobs and shouts of anger. She soon reached Dumbledore's tent. She had to tell him personally; Dumbledore and Harry had become closer and closer to each other, so much as to say they could easily have been grandfather and grandson.

The tent was silent as she walked in. Albus sat serenely in a rocking chair he had conjured, the lines of worry erased by a time of respite. She cleared her throat, her head bowed slightly. He looked up towards her, eyes sparkling slightly. "Yes, Ginny?"

She shuffled her feet a little, then softly blurted it out. "He's dead."

He jumped quickly out of his seat. The sparkle was exchanged for fire. "Who's dead?"

"Harry, sir."

He fell into the rocking chair, eyes closed tightly. Ginny thought he had just aged ten years before her eyes. Maybe twenty. He sat there a few more minutes, and a few more until it dragged towards twenty. Finally, he spoke. "How?"

Her voice was hesitant to answer. "According to resources, he was struck by the killing curse. By Voldemort. From the signs, it hit him straight in the heart..." She choked up, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. Her mind was racing with the scene she conjured in her mind...

The air is wet around us all, heavy with the cruelties of war, the sickening murder of war all around. We are unable to escape its yawning blackness in front of us, behind us, everywhere. Within this yawning blackness a particular battle comes to mind, a fight between two foes.

It wasn't even a fair fight, as we look back on it. 'As we look back on it.' Makes it sound like something that happened in history books when it occurred only moments ago.

He was standing there so straight and tall on a hillside, his sword raised above him about to strike that bastard Lestrange when it had hit him. He was too preoccupied with killing Lestrange to really pay any attention to what was going on around him. It just happened so suddenly. One moment, he was about to slice that bitch in two, and the next, his blood-covered face showed one last emotion: shock. Pure shock.

You see, there was no final confrontation, as we had all hoped. Harry would have had a chance then. But that Dark Bastard had to ruin it all, had to rush in and catch Harry at a vulnerable moment.

That sneer. Oh, gods, that sneer that came upon that Dark Lord's face as Harry fell senseless to the ground. It would make any man spill his lunch out on the ground and send shivers of fright up the bravest man's spine. That malicious grin of victory shall haunt me the rest of my life. All because I could not save him. I could not save this man I once loved, who I may still love, even in death...oh, gods, death of all things...

Albus stood, his eyes opening to show deep blackness in them. He gently hugged Ginny out of her trance, his own tears beginning to stream down his cheeks. They stood together in silent commiseration, broken now and then by sniffles and sobs.

"Albus, I need to ask you..." began Minerva as she strode into the tent. Seeing the sight before her, she stopped immediately. She looked from Ginny's red and puffy eyes to Albus' lack-luster ones. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Albus stood up and told her, to break it to his good friend and to make himself realized. "Harry is gone, Minerva, to another world."

She looked at him, aghast. "You don't mean he's...gone for good, Albus?" He nodded slowly. She bowed her head, occasionally putting her hands to her face. He offered her a handkerchief, and she accepted gratefully. "So the Savior of our world is...gone. How, Albus? After all the work, the struggles and pain, all the hopes of the world vanished like the snuffing of a candle? How..."

But before she could continue, Albus stopped her. "Minerva, he's gone. But that does not mean our cause is gone. We must keep pushing towards our goal, as Harry would want to have it." He paused a moment. "Speaking of what he wanted, he told me he didn't want to be cremated. A small and quiet burial right after his death, actually." He smiled a wry smile, though his eyes still lacked their sparkle. "I believe it would be best to have a very small, secret burial, hidden from prying eyes and the people on Riddle's side." He sat back in his rocking chair. "Minerva, please prepare the burial for me. Ginny, please figure out a way to take Harry's body without anyone knowing and do it."

Taking this as a dismissal, both Minerva and Ginny left the tent, leaving Albus alone to think and mourn in silence. At least, for a while...

"ALBUS!" The couple barged into the tent, shocking Albus enough to rouse him out of his dark study. "Albus," said the dark-haired woman, "there is a rumor going around saying Harry is..."

"But he is, Hermione; he is." He watched as the couple held each other, Hermione in Ron's arms, finding as much comfort as they could in each other. Albus sighed, rubbing his forehead slightly, then standing, watching the couple, wondering slightly whether Ron would be furious or self-incriminating.

He chose both. "So he died on us. He was supposed to live! Save the world, be our conquering hero! I was supposed to make up him; he was supposed to change. This is not how it was supposed to turn out!" He raked his hands through his hair quickly. "Why? Why did I shun him like that? It was a stupid argument; he was probably just stressed from all the pressure. Heck, I'd be in a foul mood if I were him!" He held his head in his hands, falling to the floor. "But he's gone now...no more stress for him, I suppose..." A gentle hand covered his shoulder, his hand soon coming up to cover it. "Herm, what..."

"Shh, Ron, shh..." She knelt down beside her fiancé, smiling slightly at him. "We need to pay last respects, do we not, Albus?" At this last part, she looked up towards Albus, the solid pillar of constancy in an age of change.

He nodded silently. "A secret burial. Minerva is getting the place prepared while Ginny is finding Harry..." At this last, Minerva came rushing i, hair slightly askew.

"Albus, the place is ready. Where is..."

"Coming, it seems," he said, looking over Minerva's shoulder. And indeed, there was Ginny, a body following closely behind her. She came in, head always turning every few seconds to check on the man she had loved behind her. Both entered the tent. No one spoke a word; their minds and emotions were too busy for words to be uttered.

Albus was the first one to speak. "Good can never last forever," he whispered. He sighed heavily. "Show us the place, Minerva, please."

They made their lonely way towards a forest, Minerva in the lead. She took down some defenses, then found a little knoll. She let them enter quietly, the way covered by weeping willows' branches. "Harry told me to bury him here if he ever died. You can already sense the magic used to defend this place. It is as if he had planned his own death...but that is ridiculous...Albus?"

Albus had fallen into a silent study, wondering at Minerva's words. Could Harry have planned his death? But how? It did not make sense. Harry could not have possibly planned his death in such detail, could he? No; almost impossible. It simply didn't make sense. There was no apparent motive to plan his death, and Albus was closer to Harry than anyone else. And then there was the prophesy...simply impossible. No, Harry did not die of his own will. It had happened, and nothing could be done about it now.

He shook himself from his thoughts. "Yes, Minerva?"

"Are you all right, Albus?"

"Of course I am. Now, if you would, my dear?"

"O...of course." She pressed on a knot in the tree and a large hole opened up. They all walked inside, the room accommodating all of them comfortably. "He asked to be kept in this room, alone with no adornment." She looked around her. The room was bare, made of earth and tree. She didn't know the significance of this place in order for it to be a burial ground, but then again, she had learned in the last few years that she knew very little about many things.

"Albus, would you perform the ceremony please?"

"If you wish it so, Ginny." He stood above at the head of the body. He draped his cloak over the still form, shutting those dazzling green eyes for all of eternity. "Friends and comrades, we stand here today in mourning for the losses we bear, especially for one particular loss: the loss of Harry Potter.

"We shall all miss this young man, so close to his highest point of strength, so close to the pinnacle of his life. But it has been snatched away, doused by the hands of death. The hopes we once had are now lost to us through him. But that does not mean we are allowed to lose hope. No; Harry would want us to keep on moving, doing our best, pressing towards the mark always, whether he was here to encourage us on or not. We cannot let the world down; we cannot let Harry's memory down, either. We cannot let him down by losing hope now.

"So let this last memorial to Harry Potter be something we all pride in, a commitment to the cause that Harry and we all have and still are so devoted to." He bowed his head over the young man, as did all present.

One by one they left, murmuring their last goodbyes and leaving Harry's body. Only Albus remained now. He knelt next to Harry's body, a single tear falling down his cheek. Words were whispered through the air as he left the room, the silent echoes of a wish left to become true, a hope that they all wished could be...

"I cannot say, and I will not say

That he is dead. He is just away.

With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand,

He has wandered into an unknown land

And left us dreaming how very fair

It needs must be, since he lingers there.

And you--oh you, who the wildest yearn

For an old-time step, and the glad return,

Think of him faring on, as clear

In the love of There as the love of Here.

Think of him still as the same, I say,

He is not dead--he is just away."