Harry Potter and the Soul of the Hero Chapter 35: Epilogue The Long Road Home, a harry potter fanfic

Harry Potter and the Soul of the Hero

Harry Potter and the Soul of the Hero

The Hero Trilogy – Epilogue

There are no happy endings.
There are no real endings at all.
But there can be happiness, and that is worth the trial.
We leave this world and its troubles for now, mayhap forever,
yet the chapters of these lives go on.
In our minds, in our imagination, and in our defiance.
It may not have been the ending we wanted, or felt
we deserved, but then the ending never really matters.
It is the journey that matters, and what we believe we have learnt.
Never doubt that your soul can make a difference.
Never doubt that, no matter the cost, defiance is in your very being.
Never doubt your convictions, hold fast to what you believe.
Live as if the world was about to end.
Because it just might.
I hope you take something from this, and that you pass that
something along. Be it belief in the soul, belief in defiance,
or belief in the sword of imagination.
I've nothing left to say… save this…
Live, love, and laugh.
Defy your demons, and guard your soul.
Above all – always keep smiling.

~~Captain Joe6991, just some guy with a
keyboard, a six-pack of Corona, and
an overactive imagination.

Did I disappoint you?

Did you come here for answers?

There are none.

This is not the end. The story has already ended, the conflict resolved, and the world restored.

That may sound absurd, what with all the loose ends dangling like the frayed edges of our hero's sanity, but don't be naïve – the ending has happened more than once, yet on we go… All that is left is Harry's ending.

Harry Potter was never meant to set the world on fire, all those years ago when he first became one with the Sword, fused his soul with the weapon of his ancestor and learnt, over the course of a cold winter, basic use of such a weapon from a crazy Irishman named Dermas Trask.

Harry Potter was never meant to set the universe on fire, all those years ago when he first became aware of the awesome strength of his Defiance, and the inhuman will that was forced through his heart and mind as the demons were released from their age-old prison between universes – a prison Harry himself would create millennia into the future and created millennia ago, back in the past aeons (hurts doesn't, the causality of time, and never makes much sense) – and the Devil himself would set his sights on a mortal boy of prophecy with unnatural strength and a love for white roses.

Harry Potter was never meant to set Creation on fire, all those years ago when he first became aware of the undying resolve of his Soul, yet he did – and if you've read this far then you know the rest… you know where we now stand, where we left the end of the story, amidst a field of those same, eternal white roses… and with our hero walking toward Hogwarts castle with his friends at his side, and the weight of the world beneath him no longer resting on his shoulders…

We'll jump back in there, I think, as there is at least one question that must be answered, isn't there?

Oh yes, oh yes indeed…

*~*~*~*

"Ginny's in the castle," Harry said, mindful not to step on any of the roses around his feet as he walked with Ron and Hermione at his side, a single rose in his hand. "I can feel her from here…"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said softly. "You went to bring her back, remember? She was killed, killed at Slytherin Fortress. You broke into Death to set her free… at least, that's what you said you were going to do."

Harry paused and glanced at his bushy-haired friend. "I don't remember that," he said. "But it has been aeons… I felt her though, I'd know that soul anywhere."

"Maybe you did save her, mate," Ron said, tears cutting harsh tracks down his cheeks. "Maybe she is in the castle…" His tone suggested he did not believe it. There was only ever one person who had defeated Death, and that was Harry.

Only ever Harry.

Not anymore, however, his life was ticking away second by second now, toward a final death and ever-lasting peace borne under a swift twilit sunset.

Was it too little to ask, after accepting the stewardship of all time and space, that this part of the story work out for the best? Perhaps it was, perhaps God was cruel, cruel enough to make Harry live, and live alone.

What God? Harry thought, in honest confusion. He had scoured all the worlds in all the universes and existed as nothing in the darkness before time began, and at no moment in all of that had there ever been a God. Creation was a barren and lonely wasteland for the most part, with brief sparks of light and love… There was no God, Creation was a cosmic accident.

You know better than that, Harry Potter.

Do I?

Harry walked past Albus Dumbledore and the Weasleys, past Remus and Dermas and all his surviving allies. For the first time in millennia he climbed the castle steps and walked into the Entrance Hall.

"Ginny," he said softly. Harry followed his soul, he knew where to go.

He past old school friends in the halls of Hogwarts, and they shied away from him in awe and fear, respect and terror. Here was the Darkslayer, the Lord of Twilight and the man who had overthrown the Australian Ministry and plunged the entire world into a war that only he could end. Here was a man who had unmade that world, although his old friends could not know that, and carried it through the teething of Creation to the present day.

At long last, Harry came back to where it had all started – the Astronomy Tower, and the first kiss he had ever received in true, honest love.

Here was the hero at last, back to the very start, and waiting for him was Ginny Weasley, her lips full and smiling, her hair caught in the wind.

And her ghostly form as transparent as mist.

"I lost you, Gin," Harry said, seeing all the years of this world alone. "I don't accept that you're dead."

Ginny floated across the balcony, the balcony that looked down at a world covered in white roses as far as the eye could see and beyond. Hush, Harry Potter, she said.

Harry heard her as clear as day. "How can I save you?" he whispered, the rose in his hand hanging limp at his side.

You already have, my love, the ghost replied, wise before her time.

"I killed you, I killed you all… and yet here we are."

Can you live a normal life, Harry?

"Not without you, Ginevra Weasley."

Don't be silly… all you have is a schoolboy's crush on me.

Harry laughed – and if laughter could have ended the world…. "I've power enough left to change this, Gin, to fix it."

Her eyes flared hopefully for one twilit moment. If anyone could undo death it was Harry Potter… yet after so long and so many miles, didn't that feel like cheating the sacrifice? Bending the rules to accommodate the need for a happy ending? Would not the ending fit better if Harry James Potter were to go on alone? A tragic hero, the cost unmeasurable, his love lost to the fires of war.

Yes it would, but this is Harry's story now… and it would go the way he wanted or Twilight be damned.

You shifted Creation in its entirety into a parallel Oblivion… what can you do for me, Harry? Some laws aren't made to be broken, they are made to preserve.

"Not when I've waited so long," Harry growled, and shoved the long-stemmed white rose straight into the heart of Ginny's spirit.

There was a flash of golden sparks, Harry's hand was alight with true magic, and the rose hung suspended in the air inside Ginny's transparent chest. Harry took a step back just as Ron and Hermione caught up with him, and stood silently in the alcove before the balcony, watching with tear-stained eyes as the truth unmade Harry a final time.

I… I can feel the wind, Ginny said, raising her hand against the breeze. Sparks of golden light swam in her silvery form. I can taste the world.

"I'm bringing you back," Harry whispered, daring the universe to defy him. "Ron, Hermione, I will need one of you." He extended his hand, waiting for one of his friends.

Two hands grasped his arm tightly, both Ron and Hermione. Harry smiled, and reached out his other hand for Ginny's lifeless soul… She hesitated, not quite daring to believe that she could touch Harry again, yet her ghostly hand alighted softly in his palm, and there was just enough resistance to make it comfortable. Ginny sighed deeply, and was almost swept away on the wind like early morning mist.

"Take a deep breath…" Harry said, and the world faded around the four friends, only to solidify a heartbeat later in a familiar room, before a familiar fireplace. Harry had moved them through reality and to Grimmauld Place, to where he had left Ginny's physical body before leaving to retrieve her from Death, and fight the final fight so many millennia ago, and only last week…

He had left her body encased in a cocoon of his magic. That cocoon was fading fast, already dull and grey. Ginny's body, the victim of the Killing Curse, was visible through it now – perfectly preserved only moments after her death.

"What are you going to do, Harry?" Ron whispered, as Harry fell down onto his knees before the girl he loved. Her ghost hovered just over his shoulder, the white rose pumping in her chest like an abandoned heart.

"Do, Ron?" Harry whispered. "Set my soul on fire to keep her safe? What is there left to do, save die as well?" That was not despair in his voice, or even regret, it was defiance. Always and only defiance. "Give me your wand…"

Ron thought about it for a moment, and then decided to trust Harry. Why not, after all of this? He handed him his wand, and Harry dispelled the magic covering Ginny's body completely. He then stood, and turned to face the ghost of his quest completed, of his memories and of his life.

Ginny smiled calmly at Harry, and Harry returned that smile with one of his own, and an infinite patience swam across his eyes.

What are you doing? Ginny asked.

"Calling in a favour, sweetheart," Harry said. "Dancing with Death one last time…."

There was one spell, one piece of magic, one incantation that Harry had never used across all the years and all the wars. One fiery curse that he had first been exposed to at the tender age of one, and which had ended countless lives at the hands of many men and women…

The Killing Curse – the magic that had made him the Boy Who Lived.

Harry pointed Ron's wand at Ginny's ghost, working completely on instinct and his faith not in God but in his own power, and set the world ablaze a final time.

"Avada Kedavra," Harry whispered, and the sparkling emerald light absorbed the white rose in Ginny's chest and shrieked like all the demons of hell set upon the earth.

Hermione screamed and Ron pulled her out of the way as the curse rebounded off of Ginny and the white rose and roared back through the air at Harry. For his part, Harry just closed his eyes and accepted his own, and only, Killing Curse directly in the heart.

Everything went dark.

*~*~*~*

Dear Harry,

We have laboured long to build a heaven, only to find it populated with horrors. Nightmares of the past, forgotten mistakes and the end of the world in the bloom of so many dark, bloody roses… there were never any black roses, you know, just white – only and forever white – stained with so much blood and dirt that corruption enough to destroy the very Ways of Twilight was unleashed.

That is humanity, Harry, and the only certainty is entropy. It's done now, done but can't be undone anymore. But why did you fight? Why did you save the teeming masses of corruption, and set in motion the end of all things in a slow, agonising march towards Oblivion?

We don't exist in the same Creation, parallel or not, yet your world and my world can be breached through story, through words and imagination. I fear I owe you an apology…

*~*~*~*

The heart has its reasons, of which the mind knows nothing.

When the Killing Curse struck him he was dead to rights – yet how often, and how sure has Harry survived across the face of the world – he did not die. His scar, that infamous scar, exploded – yet only a small amount of blood flowed from his forehead before it was overwhelmed by a light so golden and pure that none could look upon it, dead or alive.

Harry would remember this moment, more so than any other in his long, achingly barren quest, as this moment was the beginning of always.

He fought the green light of death. He wrested his soul in a gamble of life and magic that threatened to exhaust his dwindling reserve of raw, pure power. There was no ultimate strength left in his veins, and what did remain was dwindling fast. Harry had given up his right to that strength long ago, in the chaos and destruction at the Ways of Twilight.

Fairly soon he would need to use a wand again – full circle, such is life.

Was it his imagination, or did Ginny's hand twitch, lying there as she was on the old carpet before the fireplace in Grimmauld Place. Her spirit, the white rose shaking in place of her heart, was being pulled towards Harry, who held the Killing Curse light in his scar, in his eyes, and in his voice.

Here was magic unknown, here were new paths revealed and untrodden. Here was Harry Potter, once again breaking the laws of life and death, time and space. And we know what that led to last time, don't we? Yet I think he has earned perhaps one small… moment, in which to set all to rights.

"Beginning of always…" Harry whispered, and his voice was as cold as winter death and as warm as summer life.

Ginny's ghost, her spirit and her link with the afterlife, hovered over her cold dead body. Only was there a bit more colour in her cheeks, a tear in the corner of her eye?

Ron thought so, and Hermione's fearful eyes actually glimmered with unshed tears of hope. Perhaps everything would work out for the best….

*~*~*~*

…I fear I owe you an apology… You see, at the time I considered imagination my playground, and I lived at best in a state of astonishment at the wonder I could create in your world, the high adventure and the roaring fires of war and conflict – with you, the hero, ready to stand strong and sure against the unrelenting tides of darkness.

How arrogant I was, to assume you were nothing but an imagined character, a two-dimensional line of words, and that the pain and suffering you felt was not real, only in the minds of the readers. I was wrong, and across all the stars and creations of Oblivion your war and courage did exist, it was real, it did happen…

Did it happen because I wrote it, or did I write it because it happened? Was my imagination, just one of many in your genre, Harry, clear enough to see the war to end all creation, to unmake existence and the breaking of a thousand, thousand universes all tumbling to the ground and shattering like glass cast upon stone…

Either way, it does not matter now, and for what it is worth so late in the game – I am sorry. Ha, and I know you hate pity, so sorry again.

*~*~*~*

When Ginny opened her eyes it seemed to her as if the whole world was on fire, that she could glimpse the sheer violence and chaos that hid just below the reality that we all existed in, that covered our everyday senses. And then it was gone, yet the blood in her eyes was real, and warm, and the blurred shape hovering over her looked hauntingly familiar….

Death was cold, she knew, and final. She had been de—No, that was just a dream of a broken mistake, a failed path of reality, a parallel opposite so unfair and unhappy that it needed to be fixed.

Ginny accepted the strong, firm hand that was offered and helped pull her to her bare, pale feet. She tried to wipe some of the blood out of her eyes with the other, why was she bleeding?

"Just open your eyes, Gin," Harry Potter said.

Ginny did as instructed and the world was clear before her. She stood in a small boat rocking gently back and forth on a calm tide within a sunlit harbour. A town was built into the Italian hillside nearby, and in this small bay were dozens of other boats – big and small. She had been here before, with Harry, their first and only date before she had been kill—

"Are you hungry, Miss Weasley?" Harry said quietly. "Fancy a late Italian breakfast?"

Ginny raised a hand to her forehead. It hurt, and was stinging terribly. She saw Harry's face and quickly hid the pain. He looked heartbroken, yet also relieved beyond any measure. His lightning bolt scar had been bleeding, right down the side of his face.

"Harry…" she whispered. "How…?"

In his hand Harry held a withered white rose, yet the blossom held a faint golden glow that looked for all the world like a beating heart. With a smile, with a laugh that did not quite fit his character, Harry tossed the rose upon the gentle ocean tides, and pulled her in close in a fierce embrace…

"I brought us here from London," he said. "It seemed only right, and I've learnt to trust my instincts. It's over, Ginny, it's over – the war has been laid to rest, and we're both alive."

Ginny tried to absorb that all at once, and couldn't. Her blood felt cold still, cold and shivering with the lingering touch of… death.

"You brought me back, Harry," she said, remembering death and even the Oblivion that might have been, that had been – done but undone. "You said you would…"

Harry laughed, and he was so young again, so carefree. Yet his eyes were still old, still carrying the weight of a thousand wars. "I think I'm all out of miracles now."

"Why does my head hurt? Why is it bleeding?"

"Death's final joke, or magic making things fit into place after so long," Harry replied. "Here, look…."

He put a hand on her shoulder and had her lean over the side of the boat, to gaze at her watery reflection in the sparkling ocean waters. Ginny's forehead was bloodied and bruised, and enflamed just above her right eye was a sharp and clear lightning bolt shaped scar.

She had a scar to match Harry's.

"We're both survivors, Gin," Harry said. "And only laws that we accept settle over us both now. We're unique in the world, you and I, and for that reason alone I love you more than anything."

"Harry…"

Harry laughed, and were there tears in his eyes? How long had it been since he had felt enough of anything, save righteous anger and fury, to cry? Too long, forever and a day, and all that you wound find in between.

"I'm old enough to know how tiring life can be, Ginny, but I want to spend the rest of mine with you. I've lived for seventeen years, and I've existed since before the dawning of time. I'm old and young, and wise and stupid, and I can't promise you a life of peace… but we can try now."

Ginny heard the sincerity in his words, and saw the years of the universe swirling in his eyes like the wrath of some unimaginable vengeful god… but that was Harry, just Harry, her Harry. What man could she ever be happy with save the most defiant, the most soulful and the most heroic man in existence?

*~*~*~*

Should this story end with loose ends dangling in the wind like the frayed edges of a long noose? Perhaps that is best, perhaps it is best to leave you be now, to make your own way.

Her lips were always like strawberries, weren't they? Where has the light gone, what keeps you burning, Harry, when the fire is long gone? Should you be afraid? No, not at all. Don't fight it, just don't fight it… you've fought enough.

I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry…

*~*~*~*

Ginny kissed Harry. Harry kissed Ginny.

And to Harry that was the greatest, purest, and most sought-after rush of sensation he had ever felt. It clouded his mind, undid any thoughts and made his legs shake with weakness…

He fell – and pulled Ginny with him – into the warm, sparkling ocean.

Her laughter was perhaps the sweetest thing Harry had ever heard, as they breached the surface of the warm ocean, alive and well, and cleaned the blood from their twin scars softly and with the greatest care.

So many wars, so many battles and enemies fought, and now here we sit at the other end of the spectrum, with love and laughter and the better things about living this life – sweet lost moments with another soul, another person…

"I love you, Harry James Potter," Ginny said, drops of seawater shining in her hair and on her eyelashes. "I love you so much, hero."

Hero… oh yes, ma'am, more than once, twice, and the third time for all.

And with that, wouldn't you say that all was said and done…

*~*~*~*

The End
If you wish it to be….

*~*~*~*

And if not…

Harry Potter and the Life of the Hero

Chapter Twilight – Now and Forever

This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.

Following the defeat of the Dark Lord Voldemort and his armies by Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the world set about taking account of the damage, and rebuilding that which needed to be rebuilt – which was a lot.

In the days and weeks following the Battle of Hogwarts, and the last time anybody had seen Harry Potter alive, Death Eaters were exposed and shamed before the entire world, sentenced to life imprisonment, and dark wizards all over the world fled in terror as the International Confederation of Wizards declared the war won and over – thanks to Harry Potter.

The Australian Ministry of Magic was returned to the government itself, and Harry Potter did not appear to protest this, nor anyone speaking for him. His armies were disbanded in the heart of the Australian deserts, the Twilight Guardians, Harry's personal Special Forces disappeared back to their lives, and a steady but sure peace followed the ending of Harry's legacy…

Death Eaters were discovered in many of the Muggle governments, and the Muggles themselves had questions that could not be answered. Worldwide storms, magic exposed enough to be seen by all, and dark creatures pouring from a tear in the very fabric of reality… The governments would calm the populace eventually, and things would return to normal, yet most knew, in their secret hearts, that their science did nothing much to explain the mystery and intrigue of the world hiding in the shadows…

That terrifying world, that existed on the border of all that we know, and all that we suspect.

So things were returned to what could mostly be called normal, and a month after the war had ended – a month after Harry had taken his Creation as a whole and bumped it an inch or so to the left, thus ensuring Oblivion did not erode the foundations of existence and Voldemort remained defeated – there was still no sign or word of Harry Potter.

Across all the world's newspapers and in every magical nation, the search began in earnest for the saviour of the wizarding world, and Harry's face became international news once again. All of the warrants for his arrest, the bounties placed on his head, were called off as he was cleared of all wrong doing by the International Confederation – yet still no trace of him surfaced.

His mark remained, however, in those hallowed halls of the International Confederation. The flags and banners of the Lord of Twilight, of the Darkslayer, that he had thrust into the stonework before the Seat of Merlin, the Seat of Power, could still not be removed. A subtle yet strong reminder that, perhaps, the owner of those banners was still alive, still awaiting the right moment to reappear…

*~*~*~*

At Hogwarts Albus Dumbledore prepared a memorial for those lost in the battle, and half the wizarding world was in attendance, but not Harry.

Ron and Hermione were there, as Hogwarts was set to reopen in a few weeks for the remainder of the school year, and they were of course attending. Everything was back to normal, no matter how crazy it had become, it was now back to normal. And NEWTs were an important thing to have in a normal world.

More than once both Ron and Hermione had been asked by varying people in varying positions of power if Harry Potter had been in contact, or whether or not they knew where he could have gone. Both Ron and Hermione did indeed have one or two suggestions as to where Harry could have gone, yet they said nothing.

He was spending time with Ginny – time long since earned the hard way. And all those months ago Sirius had left him in his will a number of certain unplottable homes around the world…

One in Australia, actually, on the southern coast – a tropical getaway at this time of the year – and guarded by wards and magic of the highest order, created by Harry himself earlier that year… perfect for a little holiday, a small break, a rest after the war.

*~*~*~*

Now what do you want of me, Harry Potter? Do you want me to write a happy ending, or would you prefer to make that on your own. I already know the answer, as do you, and as do the many and varied readers of this tale. I can only tell what happened, at this point, I cannot show you where to go…

You never needed me anyway – your scar is legend, after all. And who knows? Starting a long journey may not be so hard… perhaps you've already begun. Ha, wouldn't that be funny?

Let the silence make itself at home now, you're done and spent, hero, and have all the time in the world to enjoy the lighter things in life – the things that really matter like butterbeer and Quidditch, friends and music. War and enemies are a fool's game, but you've always known that.

It was an honour, Harry, after all these years, to have known and written about you, to see your mind and your defiance. Again, I'm so very sorry…

*~*~*~*

We all really want to know where Harry and Ginny went from that quiet seaside town in Italy, do we not? Where they went, what they did, and what happens next… Or mayhap you are ready for the true ending now, the last words of this story. No doubt you deserve it, having read so far and so true for so many years…

Thank you, dear reader, whether you loved it or hated it…

Ron and Hermione had it right, as those closest to us often do; Harry was indeed taking a well earned break, and letting the world worry about itself for the time being. He and Ginny had all they needed to survive in his manor house built into the very rocks of a cliff face in the South Australian coastline.

A warm summer, an abandoned beach untouched and crystal clear waters bursting with marine life, and two lovers all alone together for the first time in their long and well-fought lives….

Harry and Ginny fell in love all over again, and again and again. They lived with one another, they ate together, and they talked about nothing and the entirety of heaven and earth under a warm, heavy sun – and the world repaired itself around them, humanity progressed ever forward without them.

And that was okay, that was great.

All was well, Harry thought, and that thought carried such a weight of remembrance and of other worlds, that he shied away from it. Yet it was true, as true as the waves crashing against the beach in a steady, rhythmic beat as old as the universe and Harry would know – he had been there.

But that was another life, and another Harry – a war-hardened and powerful Harry. He was powerful in other ways now, and done with destruction. Was this a happy ending? No, there is no such thing.

Yet there can be happiness.

Harry and Ginny were two bodies sharing the same soul. They laughed, they swam, and they sighed.... They made love together – and it was life, it was death, and it was all that is in between. In the beginning it was slow and awkward, it was young and fast, careful and inexperienced. It was human, very human…

Which is to say it was imperfect in perfect ways.

And well worth the wait, Harry thought, thinking back over the long years. Although those memories were faded now, fuzzy, as if they had happened to someone else. And perhaps that was for the best, that he should forget – not entirely, but the worst of it – as he had the desire to make better memories now.

And after a month together it was approaching time to go back, to see the world and help it lick its wounds clean of the poison that had been Voldemort. Harry also needed to get a new wand, as he had lost his old one a very long time ago – somewhere, somewhen – and had trouble casting more than a few basic spells with wandless and thought magic.

He thought his strength would come back in that regard. It had just been such a long time since he had had to use the magic he had first known as a wide-eyed eleven year old boy, that it had fallen into disuse. A wand was needed, and time to get used to Charms and Transfiguration again. Perhaps he would return to Hogwarts – if he wasn't arrested for crimes against humanity the moment he resurfaced.

Late one afternoon, as he and Ginny both lay naked together before a twilit sunset, lying on a large beach towel wrapped in each other's arms, Harry quite calmly, and simply asked her if she would marry him one day.

"Of course, I will," Ginny said, just as surely and just as calmly. "Nothing else would make sense, would it?"

"Not at all," Harry replied, that strange and unfamiliar emotion known as love almost hurting as it beat through his heart and soul.

Ginny sighed and moved to straddle Harry's hips, her eyes locked onto his and he gasped… "You'll have to propose properly though, Harry Potter, on one knee and with a ring."

To that Harry could only nod, his eyes fluttering closed as a more real, more physical sensations took over – and the world exploded for him yet again, but in a good way, in the best way.

And for all that is in between, here at the end, in the only way.

*~*~*~*

One month later

Harry stood with Ginny in the stands of the Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They were quite alone, and had only been back in this part of the world a handful of minutes, and were taking the time now just to spend the last few moments together that they could before the world was aware that they had returned…

Both of them were dressed in simple blue jeans and white polo t-shirts, just something Harry had transfigured, that fit well enough. And both of them were darker, tanned by two months spent lounging in the sun, as naked as the day they were born for the most part.

"What will you do, Harry?" Ginny asked, gazing at the flags and banners of the Gryffindor House team blowing softly in the cool breeze. It was the end of the day, and the beginning of twilight.

Harry shrugged. He could partially see the Hogwarts grounds. A lot of the grass was still covered in white roses, as were large swaths of land all across the country. They would last until winter, for the most part, and then fade away only to be reborn in the spring – in fewer numbers, sure, but with the certainty of the ages.

"I think it will be okay, Gin," Harry whispered. "It may be crazy for awhile, but we still have each other – and Ron and Hermione, and your family, and this old castle. No one can take that away anymore. Not Voldemort, or the Death Eaters, or any demon between here and eternity."

Ginny smiled wanly. "You have faith in that?"

"Faith?" Harry raised an eyebrow, smiling a little himself. The last two months had done wonders for him, honest to god wonders. He was renewed. "Aye, perhaps a little, for what its worth. Faith in humanity, at least."

"You still want to marry me?"

"Oh yes, yes indeed."

"Good then – we'll be okay."

There was a screech from above, something old and familiar and Harry craned his neck skywards in time to see a snowy-white owl descending from the azure, twilit heavens. An owl that alighted on his shoulder with the air of something long practiced.

"Hedwig…" Harry whispered, scarcely able to believe it. "You're alive, girl!"

Ginny laughed and Hedwig hooted an affirmative, pecking his ear affectionately.

"She's got a letter, Harry."

And so she did, clutched in one of her talons. It was a strange looking letter – the parchment was rolled and tied with a single piece of red ribbon – yet it was thin, almost transparent, whispery and unwelcome, Harry thought for no particular reason. He took it from his owl carefully, and undid the ribbon slowly, for fear that the roll of parchment would come apart in his hands.

Dear Harry, it began…

*~*~*~*

Dear Harry,

We don't exist in the same Creation, parallel or not, yet your world and my world can be breached through story, through words and imagination. I fear I owe you an apology…

You see, at the time I considered imagination my playground, and I lived at best in a state of astonishment at the wonder I could create in your world, the high adventure and the roaring fires of war and conflict – with you, the hero, ready to stand strong and sure against the unrelenting tides of darkness.

Either way, it does not matter now, and for what it is worth so late in the game – I am sorry. Ha, and I know you hate pity, so sorry again.

Should this story end with loose ends dangling in the wind like the frayed edges of a long noose? Perhaps that is best, perhaps it is best to leave you be now, to make your own way.

I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry…

You never needed me anyway – your scar is legend, after all. And who knows? Starting a long journey may not be so hard… perhaps you've already begun. Ha, wouldn't that be funny?

It was an honour, Harry, after all these years, to have known and written about you, to see your mind and your defiance. Again, I'm so very sorry…

From this world to the next, and for all that was in between,

Joe

*~*~*~*

Harry finished reading the letter and it crumbled in his hands, no longer having the strength to exist within his new and solid reality. It disintegrated into ash, and was scattered on the wind like so much old life, and good riddance to it at that.

"Who was that from?" Ginny asked, watching the ash of the parchment swirl away down toward the clear-cut and spiky grass of the Quidditch pitch far below.

"No one important," Harry said, and that was the truth. "It was from no one at all... just a fading memory now, Ginny Weasley."

"You talk in riddles sometimes, Harry."

He laughed. "No riddles, Ginny, just something best forgotten. Isn't that right, Hedwig?"

Hedwig hooted and bobbed her head, nodding.

"Should we head up to the castle then?" Ginny asked. "I can't wait to see everyone's face when you stroll in all tanned and handsome."

"In a moment…" Harry whispered. There was a bending of the light down below, the twilit Quidditch pitch seemed to twist and… Harry followed the last few ashes of the letter and saw them swirl past a figure that had not been standing there a moment ago. "Can you see that?" he asked quietly.

Ginny followed his gaze and gasped.

Standing in the centre of the pitch, and gazing up at Harry with laughing eyes and a smile full of mischief, was a person so intimately familiar that it could only be here, here at the end, that he had returned.

Ethan Rafe stood tall in the twilight, his dark robes billowing about him as reality took a hold of his form. How he had come to be there, where he had come from, would no doubt make quite the story….

"Ha, Ethan!" Harry called. "Of all the worlds, in all the universes, you had to walk into mine…."

"'Lo, Harry – Ginny," Ethan said, and his voice carried well on the wind. "Well, what do you know… and a happy ending for all."

And so it was that the three of them walked up the rose covered grounds of Hogwarts Castle together, side by side and with all the patience in the world. The castle doors were open, as if they were expected, and perhaps in his own way Dumbledore had felt them nearby, and opened the castle wide to receive them…

There were a thousand or so people, students and professors, behind the doors to the Great Hall, and Harry pushed them open on their old, creaky hinges with little effort. He walked in tall, and proud, his eyes scanning the house table he remembered so well for Ron and Hermione.

The gasp started at the back of the hall and shivered all the way down to the Head Table. Every head in the room turned to see Harry Potter, alive and well, walk back into Hogwarts and approach his two oldest and dearest friends, with Ginny Weasley and Ethan Rafe at his side.

The whispers were quick and fierce, certain and uncertain – opposites, always the way of it. Dumbledore rose from his seat at the head of the hall, his goblet in one hand and the other raised for silence.

"My dear boy," the old Headmaster said, once the Hall had quietened down enough. "How well you look."

"I'm young again, Professor," Harry replied, his voice soft and strong, and carrying only the barest hint of the destiny of the past, and of the future.

A single tear fell from the old wizard's eye, and he raised his goblet of simple pumpkin juice high into the air. "To Harry," Dumbledore said, and it was echoed throughout the Great Hall from a thousand other voices… "To Harry Potter…"

"To Harry Potter!"

Overhead the enchanted ceiling was fading from twilight to the star-strewn dark of night, and that was well, for it was the end now, the end of the day.

And Harry was home.

*~*~*~*

What else would you like to see?

You came here for answers, and did you find them?

No.

There are no answers, only more questions – such is life and such is being human. We could have a fairytale ending from here, but would that fit? Would that make any kind of sense after surviving the dark and horrible nature of this story?

Perhaps it would – a final act of Defiance, aye, one more for the road. But no, it is time to let these characters rest...

Time to sail away to the Grey Havens, with Bilbo and Frodo, and leave this world – mayhap forever. That feels right, does it not? Does it not? What is left to say that you cannot imagine for yourselves? That you cannot see and breathe in your own lives...?

It is better to not know what happens, and that way we can never be certain who lives and who dies, and we can imagine either the best or the worst for these people who have shared our lives, who have at times made us imagine a world of magic, of light and darkness, imagine a world we already have... hiding just in the shadows.

Ha, a million words over three stories and now I've nothing left to say, nothing at all – this was not the ending I imagined, years ago, and perhaps not the ending you feel you deserve, but it is an ending, and not an all together bad one at that.

What did you find, here at the end? A few words to take with you in your lives, if I've done my job properly, or a feeling of time wasted if I've not...

Did you find Sword, Defiance, Soul, all ruled over by the awesome strength of Imagination...? Ever wonder what it was all for?

Either way, it does not matter. I'm going now, this is the end. Here is where I take a bow, and all fades to black. I wish you all the very best and my most sincere thanks for reading so far for so long…

There is only one word left, and it is this:

Farewell.

*~*~*~*

Don't mistake a good setup for a satisfying conclusion -- many writers end their stories when the real story is just ready to begin.

~Schmidt

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The Beginning of the Hero

~~Joe

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