Mentors

Mentors

Chapter 5: Aftermath

* * * * * * *

“Harry …” muttered Hermione, still in shock. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. But before anyone could say any more, scuffling behind them drew their attention. Min was standing in an offensive posture, waiting for someone to start a fight. Across the room, Lucius Malfoy and most of his fellow Death Eaters, including Crabbe and Goyle and Ludo Bagman, were edging their way to the open entrance. They had taken a few students hostage, and many more were scrambling out of their way. Lucius was yelling for his son. “Draco!” But he didn’t seem to be anywhere in the room. “Draco!”

With wands drawn, everyone watched the group of Death Eaters as they tensely moved toward the entrance door. Ernie Macmillan stepped forward with a hateful stare in his eyes and pointed his wand right at Lucius’ face. “You’re dead, Malfoy.”

“No, Ernie!” commanded Min forcefully. “It’s too crowded in here.”

The circular room had seemed large at first, but with so many people packed into it, it had become much smaller. Min knew what would happen if volleys of spells began to fly around in such a confined space; he’s been there before: the devastation can be terrible and indiscriminate.

The strangeness of the scene added to the tension of waiting for just one wand to emit a spell. The Death Eaters continued to work their way to the door and eventually backed out of it. Students standing in the hallway and down the steps to the courtrooms moved out of the way as best they could. The Professors and Min slowly followed the group to the lifts, ready to strike.

“The Atrium Floos are all open,” Min told them. “You may leave through there, but the students stay.”

“Do you honestly think I would trust you to —” Malfoy started.

“That is my bargain. Release the children before you near the fireplaces or die within sight of your exit.”

“We’re not lettin’ ’em go, are we?” asked Hagrid disbelievingly. Min didn’t answer.

The Death Eaters held their adversaries at bay while they took a number of lifts up to the Atrium. Min magically propelled himself up an empty shaft, close behind. McGonagall and Hagrid, along with a few students, followed in a couple of lifts. Taking a cue from Min, students in the corridor and the Atrium backed away. As the group entered the open space, the centaur statue in the middle of the fountain sprang to life and approached the Death Eaters from behind. Malfoy swore at Min, but Min just repeated himself.

“Release the children before you near the fireplaces or die within sight of your exit.”

The Death Eaters paused for a moment and then released the three they held hostage and warily moved to the nearest fireplaces. Each grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and vanished into the green flames. The small crowd watched them closely, but did nothing to stop them.

* * *

Min, McGonagall, and Hagrid returned a minute later to the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries where they heard heated raised voices coming from the large circular room ahead. One of those voices was Neville’s. As they entered the room they saw that all of the students had formed a large horseshoe-shaped mass of people off to the right side of the doorway next to the upturned tables that formerly held Ron and Hermione. Everybody in the room was staring at Bellatrix Lestrange who was standing with her back against the wall, leering disdainfully at those surrounding her. Her nose was heavily bloodied and Terry Boot had his hands on Bellatrix’s arm trying to push her into a sitting position on the floor.

“Unhand me, you filthy maggot!” she exclaimed shrilly, ripping her arm out of his grasp.

Seated on the floor next to her were her husband Rodolphus, the elderly pair who were to occupy Ron’s and Hermione’s bodies, Peter Pettigrew, and another unknown Death Eater. Across from them, just inside the crowd of students, Dennis Creevey was doubled over in pain and Mandy Brocklehurst was nursing a fresh cut on the side of her face.

Ernie Macmillan also stood near the interior edge of the assembly. He wore a very satisfied grin on his face and held his arms crossed over his chest, his wand in one hand and eight more in his other.

“What’s going on here?” Professor McGonagall demanded.

But the answer to her question seemed obvious to just about everyone. This handful of Death Eaters apparently had not been able to push through the crowd of students to join their comrades during the escape. And after a short skirmish, their wands (along with Ron’s and Hermione’s) had been confiscated and they were now defenseless against the crowd.

Professor McGonagall next caught sight of one person standing prominently at the center of this gathering of students. It was Neville. He was pointing his wand menacingly at Bellatrix Lestrange, and Bellatrix was scowling back at him, seemingly caught somewhere between terror and outrage.

“You bitch.” It was the only thing that Neville seemed to be able to say. “You BITCH.”

The dense crowd that had formed on that side of the room around the scene prevented Ron and Hermione from moving forward to fully see what was happening. While Ron could peer over most of the students, Hermione had to jump to catch any sight of Neville. She tried to push her way through, but no one wanted to move for her.

A couple of the students near the center of the gathering were trying to get Neville to calm down, but Ernie Macmillan was egging him on. “Go on, Neville. Get one for the good guys. She deserves it. They all do,” he sneered.

Min slowly pushed his way through the crowd; they moved aside for him. Professor McGonagall followed in his wake. As they reached the interior of the mass of students, Min could see his apprentice was shaking in a focused rage. Neville’s piercing glare was fixed on the face of his prey.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to …” Neville started.

Bellatrix tried to speak, but Min raised his hand slightly and no words came from her mouth.

“I’ve even dreamed about it,” Neville confessed. His words were almost whispers. “Meeting you in an alley. Sneaking up behind and taking your wand. Going through all the different ways I could do it. Taking my time. From every angle, using every curse, reliving it over and over again.”

His hand was white from the cramped grip on his wand.

Professor McGonagall tried to interrupt. “Neville. … Neville, please …”

“Have you ever wanted something so badly you could actually taste it in your mouth?” said Neville, his voice rising.

“Min …” McGonagall started, asking for help.

“It is not my decision to make,” Min stated plainly.

Neville continued, oblivious to the people around him. “Spending every Christmas in that hospital ward … Visiting on every single holiday … Sending birthday cards even though they had no idea what they were, much less who sent them … Getting back empty bubble-gum wrappers from my Mum, not realizing she was trying to communicate with me … Watching them just lie there, unaware of the rest of the world … Knowing what you had done to them …”

Still unable to see exactly what was going on, Hermione pleaded from the doorway, “Neville, please don’t.”

Neville’s concentration was suddenly broken and he gazed around at the people who were watching him in silence. He actually looked surprised to see that he wasn’t alone in the room with Bellatrix. Everyone was staring at him, including Luna. He could see a number of very young faces awaiting his decision. He paused for a moment in apparent confusion. He seemed disconcerted, almost embarrassed.

He finally looked back at Bellatrix and took a deep breath. His wet eyes glared at her.

“I hate you. I hate you so much.”

Her eyes widened and she took in a breath, bracing for what was coming. But Neville lowered his wand. He walked over to the adjacent wall and rested his forehead against it, breathing heavily on its black surface. He then smacked the wall with the open palm of his hand. Luna went over and hugged him softly around his chest, resting the side of her head on his back.

“Get them out of here,” Min instructed sharply, pointing at the cornered Death Eaters. “Lock them in one of the empty cells.”

The tension drained out of the room quickly; it was mostly replaced by disappointment.

* * *

The crowd began to disperse and it slowly thinned out near where Hermione and Ron were standing.

Hermione turned around once more to look at the archway that had taken her friend. When she did, she saw the veil swaying slightly and, unexpectedly, she also saw a boy standing next to the raised dais. Actually, he wasn’t so much a boy as a young man. His black hair was a bit unkempt and his glasses were broken, but his bright green eyes still shone up at her. He was smiling at her.

Her eyes instantly lit up in astonishment and Hermione shouted at the top of her voice, “HARRY!” She bounded down the steep steps and leapt into Harry’s arms, nearly bowling him over. A second later Ron had raced down and stopped before the both of them. He waited until Hermione let Harry go. Harry and Ron stared at each other for a moment.

“Is it you?” asked Ron, hesitantly.

“Yeah,” said Harry, still smiling. “Who else would it be?”

They embraced each other in a tight bear hug. Ron let out a deep breath. “I thought you were a goner, mate.”

“Yeah, I thought you were too when they separated us in the Atrium.”

Glancing at the crumbling archway, Ron asked, with obvious trepidation, “You went … through?”

“Yeah,” Harry responded solemnly.

“Potter’s alive!” someone suddenly shouted from the top of the stairs into the circular room above. “He went through the veil!”

Almost instantly Harry, Ron, and Hermione were surrounded by most of their classmates as a tide of students surged down into the room. Nobody could believe it. Harry was alive! He had stepped through the veil and somehow, inexplicably, survived.

Hermione, with joyful tears still in her eyes, stepped back and enchanted, “Oculus Reparo.” In an instant, his broken lenses were fixed.

Min came barreling down the steps, pushing students out of the way as he moved purposefully toward Harry. Forcing Hermione aside, Min grabbed Harry by his neck and stared harshly into his eyes. Min’s dark black eyes darted back and forth between Harry’s bright green irises.

With Min’s hand under his jaw, Harry found it difficult to speak clearly. “What — are — you — doing?” he stuttered hoarsely, rather unhappy at how he was being handled.

“Making sure,” said Min as he released Harry from his tight grip. “Making sure that Voldemort is no longer with you.”

“Well?” asked Harry expectantly.

“Apparently, you did it. The being that briefly inhabited your body has been removed. Voldemort,” he said, glancing at the veil, “is dead.”

Whispers around the room were quickly passed from person to person up the stairs and out into the circular room above. “He’s dead.” — “You-Know-Who is gone!” — “He did it!”

“And that odd bit is also gone,” Min added as the muttering died down.

“What ‘odd bit’?” Harry asked quizzically.

“That bit of you that felt strange, like it didn’t quite belong. I noticed it the first time we met. It was something small and hidden, but I could see it behind your eyes. It, apparently, was removed as well.”

Suddenly Hermione gasped. “Harry!”

“What?” he asked.

“Your scar. It’s … well … it’s gone!”

Ron stared at Harry’s forehead. His mouth fell open. Harry didn’t have a mirror, and so asked for confirmation. “Well?”

“It’s gone, Harry,” said Ron in amazement. “I don’t believe it, but it’s really gone.”

Harry was feeling his forehead where his scar should have been when he noticed that Min was now examining the ancient archway and pulling students off the dais, away from the dangerous veil. But before Harry could ask him anything, Professor McGonagall had moved her way through the crowd to him. Then to his great shock (and embarrassment) she hugged him warmly and didn’t seem to want to let go.

“Oh, Harry!” she said with tears in her eyes, “I remember leaving you on your Aunt’s doorstep and wondering what would become of you. And look what you’ve done! Magnificent! Wonderful!” She hugged him tightly once more.

Hagrid stooped down outside the doorway and gazed in.

“Why don’t we all congregate up in the Atrium where there’s more room?” Min suggested.

The crowd slowly filtered up and out of the room. Min remained to be sure no one got near the veil. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked into the expanse of the round room, Harry looked around at the debris left on the floor. The concave basin was smashed, the upturned tables were in large splinters splayed on one side of the room, and the cauldron lay empty on its side, its contents mostly spilled onto the floor of an adjacent room. There was a splattering of pure blackness on the wall, but it wasn’t the natural black color of the wall, instead it was a level of blackness that almost looked like empty space hanging there. Harry thought about it and realized that this must be what was left of the green elixir that was used to transfer Voldemort’s essence into him. The elixir itself had been remarkably reflective and Harry remembered hearing a hissing sound just before he passed out. This strange black stain must be what remained of the liquid after it had been used.

Suddenly, a large dark mass picked him up and hugged him in a bone-crushing embrace. “Yeh did it!” yelled Hagrid. “Yeh did it! I knew yeh could! I jus’ knew it!” Thankfully Hagrid let him down and Harry could now breathe again. Hagrid was sniffling. “You’re a great wizard, Harry. I knew it the firs’ time I met yeh. Destined fer greatness, that one. Yes, sir. Plain as the scar on yer —” Hagrid gasped. “Harry!”

“Yeah, I know, Hagrid; it’s gone,” said Harry.

Neville appeared immediately in front of Harry. Because of the mass of people, he hadn’t gotten to greet him. They shook hands vigorously and Neville was obviously happy, but Harry noticed he also seemed a bit unsettled. Peter Pettigrew and both the Lestranges were being led from the room and taken into the cellblock area. Hagrid moved to follow after them.

“Oh, yeah! Here you go, Harry,” said Neville, reaching into his robes and fishing out Harry’s wand.

“My wand! Thanks! Where’d you find it?”

“It was sitting on a mantelpiece in the Great Hall.”

“Professor Dumbledore took it from me when he threw me in the dungeon cell at school,” Harry explained. “But why did he leave it there?” he asked to no one in particular.

“Sorry I couldn’t get it to you sooner. It might have been useful.”

“That’s okay. Apparently I didn’t need it,” he said smiling.

Harry was inundated with outstretched hands that wanted to shake his own. Many students came up to congratulate him and thank him for what he had done. Two girls, one who Harry thought was a fifth year and the other who he knew was a second year, kissed him on his cheeks, causing him to blush profusely. Hermione tried to hold it in but couldn’t stop herself from giggling.

As he, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were leaving, Harry overheard Min telling Ernie Macmillan something about this being the, “… strangest war I’ve ever been involved with.”

Walking out of the Department of Mysteries, Harry glanced down into the courtroom hallway to his right. He saw someone in a robe kneeling in a doorway. The man had long gray hair that covered the side of his face. Harry’s heart leapt. He bounded down the stairs, ran to the man, placed his hand on his shoulder and exclaimed, “Professor!” The man looked up at him with tears in his eyes.

Harry gasped and a tremendous wave of disappointment hit him. He wasn’t looking at Albus Dumbledore, but rather, the bartender of the Hog’s Head pub. The man stood up, smiled warmly, and enveloped Harry in a great hug. “Thank you, Harry. Albus always knew you could fulfill the prophecy. He always had faith in you, and you proved him right!”

As the man embraced him, Harry saw over the man’s shoulder that a large shape blocked most of his view down the cellblock. It was Hagrid; he was sitting on the steps a bit off to the left with his head in his hands. Looking past Hagrid further into the prison, he saw a figure lying in the far cell. From his long white hair and his kind old face, Harry knew instantly who it was. Albus Dumbledore was splayed on his back in the end cell; his eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling. Professor McGonagall, kneeling over him, gently closed his eyelids.

Harry went into a mild shock. And he immediately remembered an event that occurred just before Voldemort entered his body. Lucius Malfoy had been sent out of the room to perform a task and, shortly thereafter, Harry had experienced a tremendous sense of loss. That’s what I must have sensed, he thought. He had felt Dumbledore die. He didn’t understand how he could have sensed this from another room, but he had known something terrible had happened.

The man let Harry go and introduced himself. “I’m Aberforth Dumbledore, Albus’ brother. I think you might know me from the Hog’s Head Inn. Thank you, Harry. You’ve done a truly extraordinary thing. Thank you for your courage. We are all indebted to you,” he said, shaking Harry’s hand.

Harry stood there blankly; he didn’t know what to think. His brother was lying there on the floor dead and this man was thanking Harry. It was quite bizarre.

“I’m — I’m sorry about Professor Dumbledore,” Harry stammered, unsure of what to say to the man.

“Thank you, Harry. He was a great man. I wish things could have turned out differently, but this is the way fate has played itself out. He worked so diligently to get you to this point. I wish he could have seen it for himself.” He paused for a moment. “But I do have one question for you. How did you survive the veil?”

“I … I don’t know, really,” he answered truthfully.

Aberforth glanced at Min, who was standing over Harry’s shoulder, and instantly changed his tune. “Well, there will be plenty of time to discuss that later. You should get upstairs. I suspect there are a great many people who will wish to thank you for what you’ve done here tonight.” He smiled warmly at Harry once more, but seeing his Headmaster’s body lying at the end of the cellblock didn’t put Harry into much of a celebratory mood.

Min escorted a sad Harry, a stunned Ron, a tearful Hermione, and a rather quiet Neville up to the Atrium which was starting to fill with people. Members of the Ministry staff, many of whom, from the marks on their wrists, had obviously been recently incarcerated, began to filter over to thank Harry; many wanted to shake his hand, some congratulated him, while a few others just stared.

More and more wizard folk were pouring in, some coming to help, many to see if it was really true. News travels incredibly fast through the Floo Network, what with people popping their heads in and out of their relative’s fireboxes to relay the latest tidbit of information. Reportedly, spontaneous fireworks celebrations had sprung up all across the country, not unlike the first time Harry had destroyed the Dark Lord nearly sixteen years ago.

From all the boisterously cheerful smiles and vigorous celebratory hugs and handshakes being passed around by those collected in the Atrium, the enormity of relief over what had occurred that evening was beginning to sink into all of them. It was like a giant collective sigh that exhaled years of worry and fear.

But personally, Harry felt extremely disconcerted. He hadn’t even begun to digest what had happened to him this evening and yet he was being passed around like a tray of hors d’oeuvres, shaking hands with hundreds of wizards, one right after the other. He now knew what a whirling dervish must feel like.

Mrs. Figg, Harry’s neighbor who for years he’d thought was just an old Muggle with too many cats, appeared in the Atrium to inform him that his Uncle Vernon was on the verge of a nervous breakdown due to the number of congratulatory owls, including two marriage proposals, that had been sent to Privet Drive. “Um, thanks,” he told her.

Standing among a large group of wizards and witches, many only half-dressed, but all wanting to shake his hand, pat him on the back, or just look, Harry accepted the attention graciously. But a sudden movement at the end of the Atrium caught his eye. It was the front entrance lift. Even through the thick crowd Harry could see who was coming down. It was Ginny and Fred and George Weasley along with Lee Jordan. Harry excused himself from the adoring throng and made his way to an open area of the Atrium. They all saw each other simultaneously. Harry smiled broadly and threw his hands in the air in a great victory sign.

All four shouted, “Harry!” at the same time. Ginny sprinted toward him and Fred and George put down their brooms and explosives before jogging over. Lee put down his broom, but had to aim one of his fireworks at the ceiling away from the large crowd; he had lit its fuse on the lift so he could fire it off immediately. As the rocket soared toward the far corner of the high ceiling and burst into a large ball of silver sparks, Ginny leapt into Harry’s arms and kissed him passionately.

A voice from behind yelled a reproachful, “Ginny!” It was Ron, who was evidently a bit shocked at the excessive display of public affection from his younger sister.

The twins yelled and Ginny squealed, “Ron!” at the same time, and Harry let her down. Another squeal of, “Hermione!” let him know that both his best friends had stepped out of the crowd.

Harry moved forward toward Lee. “You look a bit winded.”

“We just flew here at top speed from Hogwarts. What the hell happened? We heard they took you. We came here to rescue you three!”

Harry looked down at the badge on Lee’s chest which read:

LEE JORDAN
RESCUE MISSION

“It’s rather a long story,” said Harry. “But the short version is: Voldemort’s dead.” Lee shuddered at the mention of the name, but the bright look on his face showed that he quickly overcame his fear. “Yes!” And they both did an exuberant double high-five.

The two then walked over to where their five friends were chatting. Ginny and Hermione were still hugging. Hermione was tearing up again.

“Ron said you killed him,” said Fred. “How’d you do it, mate?”

“I walked through the veil.”

“You WHAT?” screamed Ginny, looking absolutely appalled and sounding an awful lot like her mother.

“Yeah, they … er … mated and —” said Ron.

“We didn’t mate. We joined,” Harry corrected. “His … er … consciousness tried to take over my body. But it didn’t work.”

“Why not?” Lee asked earnestly. “I thought he was supposed to be one of the most powerful wizards ever.”

“Well …” Harry started, looking back and forth between Ron and Hermione, but he was cut off by someone else calling his name.

It was Professor Marchbanks, the elderly witch who had been putting the seventh years through their N.E.W.T.s, and was old enough that she had tested Albus Dumbledore himself when he was taking his exams. “Harry, I wanted to say thank you. Thank you so much for your courage. What an extraordinary accomplishment, especially for someone so young.”

“Thank you,” he said, a bit embarrassed as he shook her hands.

“It’s a pity about Albus,” she continued. “He was such a superb wizard and a truly great man. He will be missed dearly.”

Harry nodded and, as the witch walked away, the realization of what she had said hit the newly arrived foursome. “Professor Dumbledore; he’s … dead?” asked George. Harry nodded gravely and Ginny inhaled a quick breath, putting her hands over her face. “Oh no!”

Professor McGonagall strode over to where the group was standing. She had a concerned look about her. “How are you feeling, Harry?”

“Okay, I suppose. A bit tired,” he confessed.

“You look exhausted. I’m taking you back to Hogwarts and getting you to bed.”

“No, I’m fine, really.”

“I think you should listen to your Professor’s advice, Harry,” Min stated from the edge of the crowd. “You need rest.”

“But Ron’s parents haven’t gotten here yet and —”

“Go on, Harry,” said Ron. “We’ll fill them in.”

Harry reluctantly followed Min and McGonagall into a fireplace and back to school. The trip through the Floo woke him up a bit, but even he now had to admit how bone-tired he was.

“Harry Potter is alive!” shouted Dobby excitedly as Harry stumbled out of the fireplace.

“Hi, Dobby.”

“Later, Dobby,” said McGonagall. “Harry needs to get to the infirmary. We’ll escort you up to —”

“Wait,” said Harry. “I need to tell Dobby this.” He knelt down and spoke to the house-elf eye to eye. “He’s dead, Dobby. Voldemort is dead.”

The house-elf momentarily flinched at the name, but he then clasped his hands together and with a joyous expression exclaimed, “Harry Potter has done it! He has defeated the darkest of evils! Oh how wondrous! Harry Potter is truly a great wizard! Thank you, Harry Potter! Thank you!” Dobby exclaimed as he hugged Harry tightly around the neck.

“Come along, Harry,” McGonagall insisted. He nodded and Dobby let go. With his mind still reeling from the extraordinary events of the evening, Harry wearily followed Professor McGonagall and Min up to the hospital wing.

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