Settled gradually over Harry in the long minutes, like softly falling snow.

“I’ve got to go back, haven’t I?”

“That is up to you.”

“I’ve got a choice?”

“Oh yes,” Dumbledore smiled at him. “We are in King’s Cross you say? I think

that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to . . . let’s say . . . board a train.”

“And where would it take me?”

“On,” said Dumbledore simply.

Silence again.

“Voldemort’s got the Elder Wand.”

“True. Voldemort has the Elder Wand.”

“But you want me to go back?”

“I think,” said Dumbledore, “that if you choose to return, there is a chance that he

May be finished for good. I cannot promise it. But I know this, Harry, that you have less

to fear from returning here than he does.”

Harry glanced again at the raw looking thing that trembled and choked in the

Shadow beneath the distant chair.

“Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and above all, those who live

Without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families

are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, they we saw good-bye for the present.”

Harry nodded and sighed. Leaving this place would not be nearly as hard as

Walking into the forest had been, but it was warm and light and peaceful here, and he

Knew that he was heading back to pain and the fear of more loss. He stood up, and

Dumbledore did the same, and they looked for a long moment into each other’s faces.

“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry, “Is this real? Or has this been happening

inside my head?”

Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry’s

Ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure.

“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that

mean it is not real?”

The Flaw in the Plan

He was flying facedown on the grond again. The smell of the forest filled his nostrils. He

Could feel

The cold hard ground beneath his cheek, and the hinge of his glasses which have been

Knocked sideways

By the fall cutting into his temple. Every inch of him ached, and the place where Killing

Curse had hit him

Felt like the bruise of an iron-clad punch. He did not stir, but he remained exactly where

He had fallen, with

His left arm bent out at an akward angle and his mouth gaping.

He had expected to hear cheer of triumph and jubilation at his death, but instead

Hurried footsteps,

Whispers, and solicitous murmurs filled the air.

"My Lord... my Lord..."

It was Bellatrix's voice, and she spoke as if to a lover. Harry did not dare open his

Eyes, but allowed

His other senses to explore his predicament. He knew that his wand was still stowed

Beneath his robes because

He could feel it pressed between his chest and the ground. A slight cushioning effect in

The area of his stomach

Told him that the Invisibility Cloak was also there, stuffed out of sight.

"My Lord..."

"That will do," said Voldemort's voice.

More footsteps. Several people were backing away from the same spot. Desperate

To see what was

Happening and why, Harry opened his eyes by a milimeter.

Voldemort seemed to be getting to his feet. Various Death Eaters were hurrying

Away from him,

Returning to the crowd lining the clearing. Bellatrix alone remained behind, kneeling

Beside Voldemort.

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 607