Chasing Harry

Epilogue

It was a beautiful day. The sun shone directly on the new painting on Dumbledore's office wall, lending a new cheer to the room. It was a close-up portrait of a young man, his hands held near to his face as he looked at them earnestly. Blue fire sprang magically from his fingertips, the flames flickering brightly as it lent a mysterious glow to the arresting face of the man who stood still even as the magic fire burned. From afar, the eyes seemed to be an odd shade of brown. But, upon coming closer, anyone would see that it was a surprising dark crimson--an unusual hue that tended to unsettle the virgin viewer.

"Thank you for the gift, Remus. You captured him perfectly," Dumbledore complimented the artist as they stood a few feet away from the work of art.

"Thank you, Albus. I couldn't help but make it. The first time he showed me how he conjured fire with his bare hands was an unforgettable experience."

"And he is an unforgettable individual."

They moved their attention away from the picture and on to the scene out of one of the office windows. Late spring had come and it was almost the end of the term. Soon, the students would start leaving to go home to their families. But for now, they were still in school--relishing their time in their second home. From their vantage point, a part of the Quidditch field could be seen and they could clearly discern the figure of Tom Riddle standing on the otherwise deserted Slytherin bleachers.

"Do you think he really did change?" Remus asked, apprehensive.

"What made you say that?"

"He seems more like his old self, more compelling, if you know what I mean. It's not hard to see how Voldemort managed to do all he did if he was this charismatic even as a young man."

Dumbledore nodded. "He was an extraordinary man. Evil, but extraordinary. In fact, he still is. I wouldn't be surprised if he grows up to be a very important person in our world."

"He let the other Death Eaters get away, though," Remus commented, still skeptical.

"It's his choice. He was the one hurt most in the process."

"But you trust him." The question was unspoken. But it was there: Why?

"He's not alone now." Dumbledore pointed. "Look."

Harry moved from behind a green banner that had previously blocked him from view. He reached out and held Tom's hand as the pair shared a brief kiss in the afternoon sun. The movement couldn't have been more natural than anything in the world, and they looked at each other as if they were oblivious to anything else, their robes whipping about them in the breeze. Even from this distance, they could sense the uncharacteristic gentleness with the way Tom touched Harry's cheek, as if he brushed away something that the wind had blown on his skin.

Remus had to look away. He sensed, somehow, that they might need a little privacy for the moment.

"That is the disparity between the old Voldemort and him. The way they feel about Harry Potter, and consequently other people in general, is as different as black and white."

Then the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen looked up at the blue sky and smiled wistfully.

(The End)