Approach Ginny, whose face was swollen and blotchy, and hug her. Ron joined Bill, Fleur,

and Percy, who flung an arm around Ron’s shoulders. As Ginny and Hermione moved

Closer to the rest of the family, Harry had a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred.

Remus and Tonks, pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark,

Enchanted ceiling.

The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink, as Harry reeled

Backward from the doorway. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any

Of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the

Weasleys, could not look into their eyes, when if he had given himself up in the first

place, Fred might never have died…

He turned away and ran up the marble staircase. Lupin, Tonks… He yearned not

to feel… He wished he could rip out his heart, his innards, everything that was screaming

inside him…

The castle was completely empty; even the ghosts seemed to have joined the mass

Mourning in the Great Hall. Harry ran without stopping, clutching the crystal flask of

Snape’s last thoughts, and he did not slow down until he reached the stone gargoyle

guarding the headmaster’s office.

“Password?”

“Dumbledore!” said Harry without thinking, because it was he whom he yearned

To see, and to his surprise the gargoyle slid aside revealing the spiral staircase behind.

But when Harry burst into the circular office he found a change. The portraits that

Hung all around the walls were empty. Not a single headmaster or headmistress remained

To see him; all, it seemed, had flitted away, charging through the paintings that lined the

Castle so that they could have a clear view of what was going on.

Harry glanced hopelessly at Dumbledore’s deserted frame, which hung directly

behind the headmaster’s chair, then turned his back on it. The stone Pensieve lay in the

cabinet where it had always been. Harry heaved it onto the desk and poured Snape’s

Memories into the wide basin with its runic markings around the edge. To escape into

someone else’s head would be a blessed relief… Nothing that even Snape had left him

Could be worse than his own thoughts. The memories swirled, silver white and strange,

And without hesitating, with a feeling of reckless abandonment, as though this would

Assuage his torturing grief, Harry dived.

He fell headlong into sunlight, and his feet found warm ground. When he

Straightened up, he saw that he was in a nearly deserted playground. A single huge

Chimney dominated the distant skyline. Two girls were swinging backward and forward,

And a skinny boy was watching them from behind a clump of bushes. His black hair was

overlong and his clothes were so mismatched that it looked deliberate: too short jeans, a

Shabby, overlarge coat that might have belonged to a grown man, an odd smocklike shirt.

Harry moved closer to the boy. Snape looked no more than nine or ten years old,

Sallow, small, stringy. There was undisguised greed in his thin face as he watched the

Younger of the two girls swinging higher and higher than her sister.

“Lily, don’t do it!” shrieked the elder of the two.

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 573