The Ashes and the Flame

The Ashes and the Flame

Part VII. Epilogue

I wish I could say that was the end of the story, that after Voldemort's defeat, we all lived happily ever after. In truth, it wasn't that easy.

Granted, without the Dark Lord behind them, the Pureblood Party quickly lost control of the government. The remaining Death Eaters were rooted out, and slowly but surely, contact between the wizarding and the Muggle worlds resumed. But for me, it's never been the same. I've seen too much death and destruction. The magic is gone, and I've discovered that even phoenix song can only do so much to heal the hurt.

The others seem better able to move on with their lives. Neville married Eloise and moved to Hogwarts to teach Herbology. Angelina opened her own pub in Hogsmeade. Remus Lupin was released from confinement, and Charlie Weasley has moved back to Britain to rebuild the Burrow.

As for Severus Snape, he emerged from his incarceration a quieter and more temperate man. After a long and very public trial, he was acquitted of Lucius Malfoy's murder. It was a mark of the Malfoys' fall from grace that the Board of Governors subsequently appointed him Headmaster of Hogwarts. He asked me to return, too, to teach Potions and serve as his Deputy Headmistress.

At first, I refused. I didn't want to look into his eyes every day and see what he felt for me, when my heart had been shattered on the rocks of Azkaban. But he understood, and expected little from me, so I eventually accepted and moved back into the dungeons. Over the years, I've become quite fond of him, but our cautious relationship has never grown into the same passion that I felt for Theo, or the unreserved love I had for Ron and Harry.

I cannot forget Theo, the man who both saved me and destroyed me. Not a day goes by that I don't wonder if he had actually loved me. No, I tell myself, but always there is a little corner of my heart that cries yes, he must have, for how can passion like that have been faked? Yet in the end, it wasn't enough to save him.

At the same time, I wouldn't forgo the memory for anything. Ironically, I would never have been able to perform the Homunculus Transfiguration if I hadn't loved him. My soul would've still been poisoned with hate; the spell wouldn't have worked.

And Harry... my dear, beloved Harry. I dream of The Boy That Was, sometimes. I dream I am running through empty green fields, tripping a little as the long grasses tangle around my feet. I am searching desperately for my friends, but they are nowhere to be found. "Harry! Ron!" I shout. No one answers. I crest a small hillock and suddenly the Hogwarts lake is spread out beneath me, its flawless, glassy surface shining in the sun. Even the merfolk and the giant squid seem to have gone away.

Treacherous grasses seize my ankles once more, and I tumble and slide down the sand dune rimming the lake. When I finally come to a stop, I find myself at the water's edge. On the far side I can make out a dark boat moving slowly toward me. A black-hooded figure stands in the prow. I wait, strangely unafraid.

At length the barge comes to a halt, still well off the shoreline, and the dark figure lifts its hands to lower the hood. The face is very pale, and the eyeglasses are missing, but the messy black hair and lightning bolt scar are unmistakable. Green eyes stare back at me, solemnly.

"Harry," I whisper as my vision goes blurry. "Don't leave me alone."

"I'll always be here for you." But his smile is sad, and even as he speaks the black barge is pulling away again, out to the open water, where it fades away into mist.

When I wake up, there are always tears in my eyes, and on those days not even phoenix song can lift my melancholy mood. But I know that one day, the barge will wait for me; and one day, Harry and I will sail over the lake together, into the mists, to our well-deserved rest.