Harry Potter and the Second Prophecy

Chapter 19 - Closure

It was nearly eleven o'clock when Professor McGonagall entered the Gryffindor Common Room to give word to her House that they were now without one of their numbers. Ron and Hermione were, as usual, sitting together on the couch in front of the fire, snuggling, snogging, and enjoying the warmth of it the remaining flames before they burned out. Knowing that the two were prefects, McGonagall stood in front of them, blocking the heat of the fireplace. When they felt the cold, they ceased their kissing and found themselves staring into the face of none other than their Head of House. Hermione leapt from Ron's lap and smoothed her clothing while Ron stared at the floor, hoping McGonagall wouldn't notice how red his face had become. They were both terrified that she would scold them for their display, but discovered her intentions were completely different than what they'd anticipated.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, I need you each to go to your dormitories right this moment and wake every student in every year. They are to come here to the common room and meet together with me in exactly ten minutes; you will both be present as well. I have some unfortunate news to deliver." They sat and stared at her for a moment, Ron with his mouth hanging open stupidly, and finally she was forced to add a strong "Now!"

Ron and Hermione scrambled off the couch and up the staircases to their separate dorms. It wasn't but a few moments before the third year students began to appear in the room, most rubbing their eyes, and a few moments later the first year students were joining them. The fifth and second years came together, Ginny herding a troop of second year girls into a corner where they could curl up on sofas, still half-asleep. The fourth and seventh years arrived shortly thereafter, followed lastly by the sixth years, who were on the top-most floors of the dormitories. Ron and Hermione emerged from their respective staircases at about the same time and he immediately went to her. "Harry's not there," he mumbled.

"Neither is Camilia," she said, her eyebrows raising. "Do you think - "

Before she had the opportunity to voice any concerns, Professor McGonagall was clearing her throat, attempting to capture the attention of the confused and sleepy Gryffindors. When all eyes were on her, she began her unhappy message. "There has been an accident," she started, but her voice faltered. She cleared her throat once more, and started again. "...A most unfortunate accident. One of our House was found a short time ago, and is, I am very sorry to say, no longer with us."

Ron's face was white as snow, and Hermione's eyes instantly filled with tears. "Harry?" she asked, her voice quivering. "But..."

Before she could get out another word, the entire group had begun talking to one another. Harry Potter's name could be heard throughout the room as the students searched their populace for the famous wizard and the tears had already begun to pour from the eyes of the youngest students, when Professor McGonagall spoke up. She had not expected this.

"It is not Mr. Potter!" she proclaimed, and with a heavy heart, she finished, "It is Miss Pritchard who was found."

Most of the students' eyes dried immediately. "What?" came the general response. "How could - ?" "She can't - " "The Prophecy - " It seemed that the only individuals who were not gossiping but rather tearing up were Ron, Ginny, and Hermione. Dean, who had only that day patched things up with Camilia, appeared to be in shock. Hermione was crying in earnest, her head on Ron's chest. He had his arms around her but brought one hand briefly to his eyes to wipe away a fear of his own tears.

McGonagall hushed the students. "I realize that Miss Pritchard did not spend as much time in her House as some of you are accustomed to spending yourselves, but I also understand that there are those of you present here this evening who were very close to her. Though I cannot discuss the details surrounding her most unfortunate passing at this time, I can tell you that the school will be holding a private memorial service for her this week and if you feel you were close enough to Miss Pritchard that you would like to attend, please let me know personally so that I can make arrangements for you. Otherwise, please return to your dormitories. The Headmaster will have further comments to make tomorrow morning at breakfast." She eyed the students briefly, and then, shaking her head, she dismissed them all. "Goodnight," she said, and the majority turned to the stairs to head back to their rooms.

Only Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Dean, and Neville remained behind. "Professor?" asked Hermione, stepping forward, "I would like to be in attendance at...at...Camilia's..." She could not finish, and instead left her request hanging in the air like a crystal chandelier in a strong gale. Her jaw was clenched and she was holding her breath, hoping to keep herself together.

"Me too, Professor," Ron entreated her.

"And me," added Ginny.

Dean spoke for both himself and Neville. "Us, too," he said, and Neville nodded solemnly.

"Thank you. I am certain Miss Pritchard would have appreciated that. Now, please return to your dormitories...and try to get some sleep." McGonagall turned to the portrait hole, preparing to leave, when Hermione spoke up.

"Please, Professor," she solicited, "Is...is Harry all right?" Each of the four other students paused, hoping to hear McGonagall's response.

She closed her eyes for just a moment, considering how honest she should be with the students, given the circumstances. "He will be, Miss Granger. Mr. Potter is with the Headmaster now, up in his office, and will be returning to bed shortly. I would request," she included, "that you not bother him for the details of this evening. I'm certain he will speak to the lot of you about them when he is ready. Now, good night." With that, she swept up her gown and made her way through the portrait hole, leaving the group to themselves in the common room.

"I'm staying here," announced Hermione, plopping herself down onto the couch where she'd been sitting earlier with Ron.

"Me, too," said Ginny, throwing herself down beside her.

"You heard what she said!" Ron protested. "We're not supposed to bother Harry about this tonight."

"I agree, and I'm going to bed," Dean shrugged, and made his way up the stairs to his room.

Neville watched him leave. "Well...how about we just sit and wait for him? He doesn't have to talk to us; I just...want him to know...well..." Neville's voice faltered.

"We understand," Hermione said, patting Neville's arm as he sat in the chair next to hers.

Ron threw up his hands exasperatedly, but sat down on the other side of Hermione and put his arm around her. "All right. We'll wait."

* * * * * * * *

It was Neville who woke upon hearing the portrait close and saw Harry emerge from the portrait hole. "Harry!" he said quietly, realizing he'd fallen asleep and wondering what time it was.

"Shhh," replied Harry, pointing at the other three Gryffindors, all sound asleep.

"What time is it?" he asked Harry.

"Half past three," came the reply.

"Blimey," said Neville, rubbing his eyes. When he looked up again, he could see that Harry's eyes were tired and puffy-looking, and he had what appeared to be dried blood on his shirt. He remembered McGonagall's orders not to query Harry about the evening's goings-on, and instead crossed over to him so he could speak without rousing the others. "Harry, we all stayed here because...well, because we wanted you to know that we...I'm sorry, Harry, Hermione could do this better. Perhaps I should wake her - "

Harry interrupted. "No, Neville, it's all right. Let her sleep." Neville nodded, and looked longingly back at Hermione, wishing he had her eloquence of speech. Harry seemed to read his thoughts. "Thanks, Neville. I appreciate it." Neville nodded, unable to look Harry in the eye. "I'd best get to bed, Nev. Sorry. Goodnight." Before he could go, Neville caught his arm and pulled Harry to him, giving him an awkward, one-armed pat sort of hug. Harry hadn't expected this, and knowing what Neville had suffered and continued to suffer with his parents, valued this gesture more than Neville could have imagined. "Goodnight," he said again, fighting back the tears he'd imagined had all be cried out, and made his way toward his bed, collapsing upon it. He was asleep almost instantly, and his sleep, thanks to a draught of potion from Madam Pomfrey, was entirely dreamless.

* * * * * * * *

The next morning at breakfast, Dumbledore proved just as vague in his explanation of Camilia's death as McGonagall had been the night before. Accepting only the Headmaster and a few of the professors, it seemed Harry was the only one who new anything further about her demise, and he was speaking to no one, though no one had approached him with questions, either.

News of Malfoy's disappearance had spread, and it was generally agreed both that he had had something to do with Camilia's death, and that he had fled the school as a result. As this was actually fact, neither the professors or Harry felt the need to refute the gossip being spread around regarding Malfoy's departure.

The memorial service was held Wednesday, and from the time Harry had arrived in the Gryffindor Common Room after his conversation with Dumbledore to the time he and his friends made their way down to the lake, he had said nary a word about Camilia's death. To all intents and purposes, in fact, he had acted entirely as though nothing unusual had happened. His mourning was, during that period, entirely private, and most often late at night, alone in his bed, shrouded by the thick velvet Gryffindor curtains that hung from his canopy...the time he had grown accustomed to enjoying with her.

The assembly headed slowly toward the lake Wednesday morning after breakfast for the memorial service; it included Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and the Headmaster, as Dean had decided it was best that he not attend, not having been as close to Camilia as the others. Harry was secretly glad; he felt the fewer people present, the better. None of the professors were available to attend, as they were all teaching classes, and again, Harry preferred it that way.

Professor Dumbledore decided for the group that a memorial service would be preferable to a funeral so that the students would not have to be in the presence of the body. He had had Camilia interred in a private cemetery on the Hogwarts grounds that few people were aware of, as it mainly consisted of former Headmasters and Headmistresses, as well as a few professors who had been without families. The site of the cemetery was not a mystery; most students just never noticed the headstones lying amidst the pumpkins in the pumpkin patch, the cemetery's location. Her marker had been visited Tuesday evening by Harry, who had laid a bouquet of roses over her stone, which lay flat in the earth. He had become choked up when he read the inscription, and it haunted him still. It was simple, concise, and so very sad:

Camilia Pritchard

1988 - 2005

She: Lived, Loved, Remembered

The Headmaster had conjured half a dozen chairs at the water's edge, leaving a small area in front of them on the embankment open for himself and Harry to speak. He introduced himself as he who would be conducting the services, and said a few brief words about how aggrieved he was by Hogwarts' loss of Camilia Pritchard as a student, fellow witch, and friend. He explained that he knew she was in a better place, and that, though he knew she would be sorely missed, her legacy would be eternal. Professor Dumbledore then invited Harry to give the Eulogy he had prepared on her behalf.

Harry rose from his seat as the Headmaster sat in his. He felt awkward, disarmed, and vulnerable, but he marched, his head held high, to the spot where the professor had been moments before. As he looked out above the heads of his friends, all seated and looking expectantly at the youth before them, mature beyond his years, he could not keeping the tears from sliding down his cheeks. He made not a sound as he wept, but refused to acknowledge either his tears or his comrades as he prepared to speak.

"I never dreamed when I met Camilia Pritchard that I would love her as I did. I also never dreamed that I would lose her as I did. I think it's important that you all know that she died for me, to save my life, and to save the lot of you...from Voldemort."

Harry's words hung in the air, frightening, but earnest. "Tom Riddle returned to Hogwarts, and he used me to do it. Camilia stopped him. She sacrificed herself to bring me back, and to prevent him from finishing with me what he tried so many years ago to do to Ginny. She fought like a Lion - like a Gryffindor - and no matter what anyone thought of her, she deserves to be remembered as a hero."

"I was in love with her." Ginny's eyes dropped, almost imperceptibly, to her hands folded in her lap. Harry didn't notice. "She was far from perfect, but it was the love and the friendship that we shared - all of us - that allowed her to become more than Voldemort thought she ever could be...more than she thought she ever could be."

"Weeks and weeks ago, Ginny and I heard, but did not understand at the time, that this would come to pass. We were told - by someone who, just like Camilia, isn't given enough credit - that Camilia would not see the day Voldemort was defeated, but that she would aid in the cause against him. I have spent the last few days wondering...if we had understood, would I have been able to save her from her fate? The answer is no; those words were spoken not to give us the opportunity to change things, but to comfort those who were destined to remain behind, to give us the strength we would need to win the war, and the knowledge that we are already halfway there.

"Charity Danforth sacrificed herself for her descendant - our friend - and Camilia, in turn, followed her awful, beautiful example and did what perhaps none of us would have had the power to do: give up a future in exchange for the knowledge that, though gone, she had done the right thing. She had made the right choice. Camilia and I spent the last few weeks living for one another, and in the end - her end - she was willing to die for me.

"My Aunt Petunia used to read to Dudley from her Bible, and though I was not invited to listen, I often did anyway, pretending to be dusting or sweeping or...whatever it was she needed done. My favorite scripture, one that always stood out to me and comforts me now, is from the fifteenth chapter of Saint John: 'Greater love hath no man than this: that a man lay down his life for his friends.'

"Camilia Pritchard felt such a love, and showed that love by sacrificing her life to spare mine. I owe her everything, and I will miss her..." Harry's voice broke and more tears trickled down his cheeks, but he resumed his speaking. "I will miss her more than I can possibly tell." He brought both hands to his face to wipe his eyes, and then ran them up and through his untamable hair. He took just a moment to compose himself, and then looked at his friends.

"Voldemort will be defeated. We must make certain of it. Camilia has made our pathway sure; please, please help me to remember her by ensuring that she did not surrender her life for naught. Her memorial should therefore be that she lived well, loved magnificently, and died willingly, and for all of those things and all that she was, she shall be dearly missed." As Harry returned to his seat, he noticed that he was not the only person present with tears in his eyes; in fact, he saw, there seemed not to be a dry eye amongst all those in attendance. He was thankful for the commiseration of his friends as he listened to the Headmaster wrapping up the proceedings, and even more grateful for their physical companionship as they walked, all linked to each other, hand in hand and arm in arm, back to the castle.

The week, and then the weekend, passed quietly. Classes resumed, school was nearing its end, and the next Monday the Great Hall was buzzing happily once more...until the arrival of the Daily Prophet. The hall went silent. Stone-faced, Hermione handed the front page to Harry, sitting opposite her at breakfast at the Gryffindor table. He found, staring up at him from the page, the cold, lifeless eyes of Draco Malfoy, his body dumped haphazardly in Diagon Alley, a magical yellow field surrounding him at about hip-height that to Harry was reminiscent of a Police line. The story in the Prophet read:

Young Heir of Patron Pureblood Family Dead!

Draco Malfoy, only child of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, was discovered early this morning outside of Madam Malkin's in Diagon Alley, murdered by what appears to have been the Killing Curse. His body was discovered by Madam Malkin herself, who states that he was lying in a heap against her door, his personage partially obscured by his Hogwarts robes, which had been removed and were lying atop the remains. Malkin pulled back the robes in hopes of encouraging the youth to move from her doorway, and in so doing revealed that he was, in fact, deceased.

Young Malfoy's shirt was missing, and tattooed in large letters across his chest, presumably by way of the Atflictio curse, was the word "FAILURE." Near his right hand was a Muggle artifact, assumed to be a one-way portkey, according to Aurors, who found traces of the spell having been performed. Unfortunately, they have been unable to determine from whence the portkey might have originated, the majority of the artifact - called a "sell fone" by Muggles - having been obliterated upon impact with Diagon Alley cobblestones.

Malfoy is survived by his parents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, as one of the few remaining "pureblood families" in Britian. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy have been great patrons of the Wizard Arts, and Mr. Malfoy is currently employed by the Ministry as a consulting barrister to the Minister of Magic. The Minister stated today that -

Harry did not bother to finish the article on the next page. Instead he shrugged and handed the paper back to Hermione. "Wish it'd been me to do it," he muttered, retrieving his fork to continue with breakfast.

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, offended. "That's horrible!"

"'Mione's right about that one, mate. Did you see this picture?" he asked, leaning over Hermione's shoulder to look at it once more. "Wouldn't wish that on anyone!"

Harry stared coldly at his friends, and they ceased their speech. His words were measured, slow, and exact as he spoke to them. "If you had seen what I have seen and heard what I was forced to hear, you would not only wish for worse, but to have been allowed to do it yourself. There shouldn't have been enough of him left to be tattooed," he whispered fiercely, his eyes penetrating them to their cores.

Harry excused himself from the table, taking Hermione's copy of the Daily Prophet with him. When he reached his room, he removed his wand from his pocket, traced the edges of the picture, whispering "Exsectum Prophet!" and the picture fell from the paper onto his lap, cut cleanly from it. The photographic clipping was tucked into his trunk and the rest of the Prophet was thrown away. Harry lay back on his bed, pondering the method used to kill Malfoy, and finally fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming all the while that Voldemort was chasing him after him, screaming at him that he hadn't paid for his tattoo.

* * * * * * * *

Friday night was the end-of-term feast, and Saturday morning meant a mad rush of students packing and hugging and running to and fro; all except Harry, who had packed days ago and was waiting patiently on the steps of the castle for the carriages to arrive to take him to the Hogwarts Express. As he was waiting, Professor Dumbledore emerged from the castle, carrying what appeared to be a Muggle backpack. He handed it to Harry but looked out toward the lake.

"I gave Professor Snape the duty of going through Mr. Malfoy's things; I do not believe this belonged to him, though it was in his possession, and thought perhaps you might want it." Harry unzipped it, nodding, and found inside a number of items, including a sweater that smelled, unmistakably, of Camilia. His voice caught in his throat.

"Thank you, Headmaster...for everything," he added. The Headmaster's eyes looked suspiciously bright, but he smiled proudly at his student. Dumbledore had had little hope that his consolation and advice would reach the young man, but as always, Harry had surprised the old wizard. Dumbledore opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead sighed heavily, patted the boy on his shoulder, and reentered the castle, leaving Harry alone to his thoughts.

Harry stuffed the sweater back into the backpack and opened the other pockets. All told, he found a Muggle passport, a Muggle CD walkman and a case full of CDs, a wallet with Muggle photos of Camilia and various friends, and, most amazingly, a diary outlining her likes and dislikes, fears, desires, and experiences, some of which described odd magical things she had managed while particularly emotional. Harry decided it would make good summer reading, and thrust it back into the pack which he then stowed in his trunk, feeling very grateful to the Headmaster.

The carriages were loaded, the students transported to the train station, and then they all boarded the train bound for King's Cross. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all sat in the same compartment, sharing memories and discussing next year's potential. Harry was mostly quiet, and at one point as he began to doze, Ginny pulled him to her so that his head fell comfortably in his lap. She stroked his hair and he let her do it, trying not to imagine she was Camilia, but unsuccessful all the same. She had only wanted to comfort him, and he realized that he stood in need of comfort, so he allowed himself to enjoy her ministrations, Ginny or not.

He fell asleep briefly, and when he woke, his head was pointed up; he was looking into her face, and her expression was tender. She gently ruffled his hair, and smiled longingly at him. He did not miss the ache in her eyes.

"Thanks, Gin," he smiled in return.

"Sure, Harry," she shrugged.

He reached up and put a hand on her upper arm, grasping it. "No, Ginny, I mean...thank you." She nodded seriously, and when he said nothing more, she continued running her fingers through his hair.

When they reached King's Cross, Hermione, Ginny, and even Ron hugged him in turn, though Ron's hug was more of a slap on the back. "Just one more summer with the Muggles, Harry," he reassured his friend. They walked together to the parking lot, where Harry's Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and cousin Dudley were waiting. "It's almost over," said Ron.

"Yes," replied Harry, waving goodbye to his friends, handing Hedwig's cage to his uncle, and retrieving Camilia's backpack from his trunk, slinging it over his shoulder. "It is almost over," Harry agreed, and he got into the car with his relatives, prepared to face what would undoubtedly prove to be the longest summer of his entire life.

The End.