Harry Potter and the Deathly Epilogue

April 7th was a strange day. It was uncommonly cold for the last month of spring. The fog was hanging over the ground like a soggy piece of bread and the air smelled of pine and cinnamon, an odd combination in and of itself. The sun hung limply in the sky like an egg yolk, dripping slowly onto the Earth. It mirrored exactly how Harry felt: limp, tired, and a touch nervous.

Everyone had been specifically told not to wear black. It was forbidden. The invitation had even explained this, saying that black was a depressing color, and this was not, by any means, a depressing occasion.

We would like you to join us on April 7th, on the grounds of Hogwarts, to commemorate those people in the war who helped make this world, but never had the opportunity to live in it. It is a day of remembrance, not of sadness. This day marks the anniversary of the fall of Lord Voldemort. We intend to use it wisely.

Sincerely,
Aberforth Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall

So, Harry Potter found himself meandering about the grounds of Hogwarts. Ginny was at his side, her hand in his, wearing an anxious look on her face. She hadn't wanted to come, but he figured it was a good idea, if only to find an outlet for all the years after the war. It was hard to find someone to talk to, and Ginny always avoided the subject. Harry had been waiting for an opportunity like this, though he'd never admit it. Memories and guilt swirled around in his mind, festering like a bloody wound and throbbing with shivers of pain, awaiting the time of its healing.

Three children followed behind their parents, far more subdued than they normally were. They knew much about the war, but could never really understand what had happened. However, Harry thought this would at least open their eyes. In time, they would know the true meaning of sacrifice. James stood as tall and proud as ever, looking for all the world like he was a confident and mature adult, though most knew better than to assume such things from a man's appearance. The boy folded his arms against the cold and his jaw was set nervously, his father noticed. A smile ghosted across the older man's face, wondering if he'd been that determined as a child. He figured he must have been.

Albus was holding Lily's hand tightly, in a gesture of comfort. The eight-year-old clung to her brother like glue, looking just as strong as James, but also pensive. A woman's touch, Harry assumed, removing his hand from Ginny's to wrap an arm around her waist and hold her close as they walked.

There were a lot of people present, which made Harry wonder just how many people had been invited. He fervently hoped that there wouldn't be any reporters or some such rot at such a meaningful gathering. They would only ruin the spirit, and to do that would be to insult the memory of everyone who had died. Rage would not even describe the depth of his anger should something like that happen.

He moved over to sit his family down about a fourth of the way down the row, and people turned to stare as the Boy Who Lived to Be a Man settled himself down on a small wooden chair that had obviously been charmed to seem more comfortable. To Harry's intense dismay, Rita Skeeter sat just in front of him, but her attitude wasn't right. There was no Quick Notes Quill in hand, and her hair appeared a great deal more flat. She had abandoned her obnoxious glasses for plain brown ones, which rested on her nose lightly. She looked very old, though she had to be in her late forties at most. Her arm was secured over a young man's shoulders, who looked to be no older than James. He was crying softly, and Rita offered him a handkerchief silently. Harry was astounded by what he saw in this new side to the normally repulsive woman.

He hadn't any more time to think on the subject since a voice boomed over the grounds like a thundering elephant. For a moment, Harry was reminded of Dumbledore, before he realized that it was Aberforth, his brother. Vaguely, Harry had a stray thought that the man needn't address the crowd so loudly, seeing as it wasn't quite the Quidditch Cup; the field was silent except for the odd shuffling of feet or a sneeze.

"Welcome; welcome, everyone," he announced. "We are all delighted that you have been able to make it to Hogwarts, the very place in which the war ended long ago. Nineteen years, it's been. Nineteen long years of cleaning up our lives and cleaning up our world. Nineteen years of peace. But, at what price? We have lost as much as we've gained, but they who worked so hard for this have not the opportunity to reap this reward. They have waited nineteen years for this day, a day when their lives shall not be cast aside as fodder, and a day when they are worthy to be recognized as the heroes they are."

Lily managed to untangle herself from Albus long enough to launch herself at her father, and he hoisted her onto his lap without complaint or hesitation. He hugged her to his chest and kissed her fiery red hair lightly. Albus looked slightly forlorn at the loss of his protégée, but turned to listen to Aberforth instead. James didn't even look like he was breathing. Harry noticed a few more people past his eldest son, one of them being Teddy Lupin, sitting with his grandmother and looking quite pale. Amber eyes met green and Harry gave the boy a sad smile, which was returned just as grimly.

"I turn the time over to Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, to hear her thoughts," the old man finished, lowering himself from the platform at the front of the crowd to sit in a seat in the front row. McGonagall rose crisply from where she sat and walked to the podium, her back ramrod straight. She cleared her throat before speaking.

"I lost many in the war," she started quietly, sounding so unlike the Professor McGonagall Harry knew that he had to squint at her to make sure it was the same person. She sounded so awfully sad, and he couldn't remember his strict teacher ever seeming so vulnerable. "My colleagues and friends would disappear almost as rapidly as cupcakes in the middle of a room of ravenous teenage boys." A few scattered laughs resounded at this, sounding dry and choked, and McGonagall smiled, albeit somewhat wanly. "I do not claim to have experienced the worst that these wars had to offer, but I do know that what I had to endure was hard enough for me. My husband was a Muggle named Hugo McGonagall. He was a very obnoxious man, if I do say so myself, and I often found myself wondering why I'd been so foolish as to have married him at all. We disagreed on many things; there were aspects of my life that he knew he would never fully understand. There were so many issues left to resolve, and, yet, we were happy. One day, Death Eaters raided our home while I was teaching in this very school. He was murdered along with his sister, Marina. He may not have been a war hero, and he may not have been able to wield magic, but he was my hero. I loved him."

Harry was riveted, suddenly realizing how little he knew about all his former teachers. It had turned out that Flitwick had a daughter who lived in Germany, and Professor Vector was a diehard fan of American football. It was as if Harry had never considered his teachers to be human; they didn't sleep or have fun. All they ever did was teach, right? It had taken him quite a while to get over his single-mindedness, and, when he did, he realized just how ridiculous he had been.

The strict voice of his former professor jerked Harry out of his reverie. "The time is now open to you. We encourage anyone and everyone to come forward and recognize someone who deserves it," she declared, straightening and picking invisible fuzz from her already immaculate robes and regaining her seat. The grounds were silent for a surprisingly short time, as a woman made her way up to the podium which magically enhanced her small voice.

"Um… I'd like to speak on behalf of my son, Andrew," she said, sounding as if she'd already been crying and was now on the verge of breaking down again.

The meeting proceeded in much the same fashion, as person after person walked up the aisle and spoke of people who were long dead. It was as much fascinating as nerve-wracking, as each person displayed a different level of emotional turmoil; guilt, sadness, longing, and anger all evident in one person or other.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted Teddy leaping from his chair and speeding down the gap in the lines of chairs swiftly, his hands in his pockets. He reached the front and turned around to stare at all the eyes, watching his every move intently. He took a slow, deep breath and started to speak.

"My mum and dad are both dead. They died inside my school. I never met them; I won't ever have an opportunity to have the family that I know they once dreamed of. Sometimes, I feel like I should blame them for shattering my happiness by taking such risks. Sometimes, I feel like someone should have taken better care of them. And sometimes, I realize that it doesn't really matter what could have happened. They did what they thought was best for me, and that's all I could ever hope to ask for. They're my parents; it's their job," he told the crowd. "Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks loved us all enough to help us. I'm going to return the favor."

With that, Teddy awkwardly strode back to his seat and practically collapsed in it as another woman stood up to reach the front. Andromeda laid a hand on Teddy's back, rubbing soft circles and kissing his cheek.

"My husband thinks I'm being absolutely absurd for saying this, but I think it needs to be said by someone," announced a familiar, haughty voice, and Harry tore his eyes from Teddy to rest on Hermione Granger. She looked a great deal older and her hair was not quite the bird's nest it was in their school days. She was then quite a force to be contended with, having fought determinedly for house elf rights. Therefore, it came as no surprise what she had to say next. What was surprising was that Harry agreed with her.

"Dobby was one of the bravest, most loyal and wonderful house elves I have ever met. His desire to help and protect Harry Potter was unfaltering, and we would not have accomplished many things had that house elf not been there to assist us. All Dobby ever did was show his love and devotion to Harry through words and actions. These actions cost him his life," she said quietly. "While Apparating a group of people from a dangerous household, the elf was stabbed in the back and died soon thereafter. We buried him in a beautiful garden, and he will always be in our hearts as one of the greatest heroes the world of elves has ever known."

She stepped down gracefully, returning to her seat next to a man who could be identified by his hair from a mile away. Harry smiled slightly. A few minutes of silence descended on the group heavily, increasing the tension. Lily hopped down from his lap to sit next to Albus again and lean on her mother's arm. Harry rearranged himself on the chair and watched as a woman in front of him stood slowly and made her way to the podium.

After a few more testimonies, a man stood proudly and walked up to the front. He looked extremely wealthy, if the embroidery on his robes and the way he strutted up the aisle were anything to go by. His brilliantly blonde hair glinted in the sunlight, and he seemed to glow. When he turned to the crowd, his face was inscrutable, though there was a slight curl of the lip.

"I hate Harry Potter," he stated firmly in a tone that dared anyone to disagree with him. Thankfully, no one rose to the bait. He didn't seem to care overly much. "He sent my father to his execution; he bested me at everything in school; and for years at a time, I was forced to try harder and do better, only to come up short. I obsessed over being better than Potter, winning against Potter, fighting with Potter. Everything in my life revolved around bitter feelings and a resentful rivalry that everyone knew I was destined to lose. One day, Potter decided he'd kill a Dark Lord with a wand that was rightfully mine. It turns out I'd never had a chance; if the git can destroy the most powerful wizard in the world, then what right did I have to challenge him? Even in the midst of battle, Powerful Potter and his happy-go-lucky band of friends saved my life more than once. As loathe as I am to admit it, Potter deserves some recognition. He may not really be dead, but he is as far as I'm concerned. Consider this the first and last time you will hear Draco Malfoy say ‘Thank you' to Harry Potter, or anyone else, for that matter."

With a dignified flip of his hair, he stepped off the podium and sat down. Harry barely restrained a smile upon seeing his former enemy. He was as eloquent as ever, it seemed. Another man stepped up, then. He was near Harry's age, possibly a bit older, and his face was set angrily. Before Harry could wonder what was wrong with the man, he stormed up to the front and glared at the crowd.

"I would like to know," he proclaimed loudly, not accustomed to how enhanced his volume was. "Why hasn't anyone mentioned one of the greatest wizards of all time? Is he not important enough for everyone? He protected us all; he's related to us all! Are you all so ungrateful as to forget Albus Dumbledore?"

Apprehension filled Harry as the man spoke. There were many gasps and mutters among the members of the crowd. "That man was more of a hero than anyone could ever be! He vanquished Grindelwald; he was one of the greatest headmasters Hogwarts has ever known. Don't you care about what he's done for us? All these other people you speak of helped, yes, but none of them have done as much as Dumbledore!" he told them all, and it looked as if many people were being swayed to his single-minded logic. Harry would not stand for this. He rose from his seat and promptly made his way up to the man, standing beside him with a scowl on his face. The man looked unperturbed.

"I know someone who has done just as much, if not more, than Dumbledore ever could," Harry stated evenly. "Dumbledore is recognized enough. Don't you see? We're here to honor all those people who weren't granted overwhelming amounts of fame for their deeds. And you have the gall to stand up here and tell us we are ungrateful? It's you who is ungrateful and stupid. Albus Dumbledore could never have fought the war all on his own. He had colleagues and spies. Being great does not make you omniscient. I could never have done all that I have without help; I have said this several times. You are foolish to think that the world revolves around Albus Dumbledore."

The man's eyes flashed angrily at being contradicted. "Oh? Ungrateful and stupid, am I? Who is this person who is so much better in your eyes?" he goaded, sneering pitifully. Harry didn't even have to think before the answer was out of his mouth.

"Severus Snape," he replied firmly. The man was silent, as if the answer had stunned him, but then he threw his head back and laughed. A few people joined him, chuckling nervously, but the majority of the people did not respond to his theatrics. When the man's laughing had quieted down some, he stared at Harry, an amused gleam in his eyes.

"A Death Eater, a match to the power of Albus Dumbledore?" he remarked, smiling evilly. "Good one, Potter. I'll keep that in mind next time I need a good joke to tell the guys after a round of Firewhiskey."

Harry glared savagely. "That Death Eater was a spy for Albus Dumbledore for more than a decade! He was Dumbledore's eyes and ears when it came to information on the dealings of Voldemort-" A handful people deigned to flinch. "-and he did his duty until the bitter end. He himself was murdered by the Dark Lord. He protected me through my school years; he taught me so many things and I didn't even realize it until too late. He is one of the bravest people I know, and without him, we'd all be living in a world ruled by Lord Voldemort."

Nobody spoke for what seemed like hours after that statement. The man beside him looked absolutely dumbfounded, but nowhere near convinced. Harry realized that he wouldn't be able to sway this particular man from his worshipping of Dumbledore, but he had managed to bring some of the other people into perspective. A lot of people were nodding their heads. As Harry scanned the faces in front of him, he spotted Draco, who he could have sworn had raised an eyebrow at him in a fair imitation of the deceased Potions Master. Most of the people took this information seriously, as it was so freely given from the Chosen One even nineteen years after the man's untimely demise. And, he realized, he had meant every word that he said. Severus Snape deserved so much better then he had gotten in life, and, though everyone had helped achieve the ultimate goal, Snape had sacrificed a great deal more than most people were willing to offer. The other man must have sensed Harry's victory, since he stormed off in much the same manner in which he'd come to the podium. Feeling a bit lighter, as if he'd rid himself of a particularly heavy burden, he returned to his seat as well.

Ginny immediately slid her hand into his, and he squeezed it gently. Not one person made a move to get up or speak after that display, and after nearly fifteen minutes of sitting, Aberforth finally stepped up to end the ceremony.

"Alas, it seems that we have nothing left to say, after such a profound statement," Harry could barely discern that small twinkle that definitely confirmed the fact that Aberforth was Albus' brother. "I am glad you all gathered here today in loving memory of all those that were lost. Thank you, and I'm sure they all thank you as well."

Harry could feel the smile of his mother, almost like a comforting phantom presence inside him. He even thought he felt a bit of the old, snarky Potions Master looking at him with those piercing black eyes, assessing him. He had a different presence, but it was still warm; it was still human. Harry realized suddenly that Severus Snape had shown him his approval, in the only way a spirit really could.

Harry felt truly free for the first time in nineteen years. All was well.