Harry felt an ominous change stirring within. It felt as though the light inside him was being smothered by icy, clammy hands. He was trapped in this creeping darkness that pressed in from all sides. Adrift in the black void, his chest tightened as he struggled in vain to see beyond the impenetrable shadows surrounding him. Harry had no recollection of how he ended up in this abyss. It was deathly silent except for the chattering of his teeth from the sudden chill—or was it from the terror of losing his bearings in this vast nothingness? A sense of dread washed over him as he desperately waved his hand in front of his face, straining to see even a faint outline.
Harry closed his eyes, finding it easier to breathe without seeing the enveloping darkness. Where do things start to make sense? he thought desperately. Everything felt hazy and indistinct. He knew he was forgetting something, or perhaps people, in his life. This nagged at him, an insistent tugging at the back of his mind, and trying to remember was exhausting. He sensed a gnawing ache somewhere inside him, though its source was difficult to pinpoint. He wished someone would appear, hoping talking to them might trigger these lost memories. He felt them stirring in the recesses of his mind, but they slipped away whenever he tried to grasp them. Am I really better off not knowing? What’s the point of all this if I don’t know who I am?
Taking deep breaths to calm himself, Harry tried with all his might to remember the last thing that had happened before everything went dark. He was sure he had been with someone who looked identical to him, holding a basilisk fang in his hand that he—
He stopped short. Had he stabbed himself? Was he dead? Was it over?
Terror seized him. His head felt ready to explode at any moment. He struggled to recall the warning the phantom version of himself had spoken, about the consequence if he stabbed his doppelganger versus himself.
...You have the power to erase my existence and continue the life you’ve been living by piercing my form... Or pierce yourself and experience the life you saw instead...
That was it!
Memories of Granger, Weasley, and the younger Weasley girl came rushing back before his eyes, and the missing pieces of the puzzle clicked into place.
----------------------------------------
“NOOO!” Ginny screamed in horror. Ron stood frozen in shock while fresh tears streamed down Hermione’s cheeks as she buried her face in her hands.
Harry was inches away from stabbing the figure when he halted abruptly. Hundreds of silvery strands flew toward him, latching onto his body like soft silk. Before Harry could grasp what was happening, memories cascaded through his mind when the strands touched his skin. Gripping the table’s edge, he steadied himself against the overwhelming avalanche.
The memory started with younger versions of Ron and Hermione introducing themselves to Harry on the Hogwarts Express, before shifting abruptly to an image that shocked Harry—a troll inside an empty bathroom. Harry had never seen a troll before and was confused about why the three of them had ended up fighting a mountain troll in the first place. Before he could ponder this further, the memory shifted again.
“What is a wizard’s duel?” Harry saw his younger self ask Ron. “And what do you mean, you’re my second?”
“Well, a second’s there to take over if you die,” said Ron casually.
The reason for the discussion of the duel remained a mystery to Harry, as this particular memory abruptly shifted to the next: Hermione racing toward his younger self to embrace him in a hug. “Harry—you’re a great wizard, you know.”
“I’m not as good as you,” Harry heard himself say with an embarrassed look on his face when she let go of the younger Harry.
“There are more important things—friendship and bravery—”
The memory dissolved once more, and Harry had to blink to clear his vision. Suddenly, he and Ron were soaring in a flying car. Then the scene shifted, and Harry held a goblet filled with a potion the color of boogers. He drank it to transform into someone else.
Harry had no time to catch his breath. Horror struck as the next memory revealed an enormous basilisk twitching on the floor. He saw his younger self, drenched in blood, awkwardly helping a weeping Ginny to her feet. Before he could see what happened next, that memory also faded away.
In the next scene, Harry held his breath. He saw his memory-self grasping a racing broom, while Ron admired it longingly. Harry watched as they won a Quidditch match and celebrated far into the night in the Gryffindor common room.
Harry was overwhelmed as an onslaught of memories flooded his mind, threatening to explode from the intensity of emotions in mere minutes. Trapped, he could not escape the visions unfolding before him. Had Ron, Hermione, and Ginny somehow caused this? He hadn’t noticed them casting any spells, but perhaps he hadn’t been paying close enough attention. For a split second, he tore his focus from the racing memories to glimpse his friends behind the bars separating them. That’s when he saw—wands in hand, they feverishly extracted memories, desperately sending them his way. Harry’s mind reeled, but he realized this torrent was their last-ditch effort to sway him, to somehow change his mind in their final seconds together. A wave of guilt crashed over him for not understanding their pleas or allowing time for further explanation. But was it truly necessary?
Harry’s eyes remained fixed on the images before him. Witnessing the flood of memories invading his confused mind, one thing became certain: Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had stood by him through it all. They had stayed up late helping the Harry in their memories master conquering a dragon. They had tried to understand his impulsive actions before he did something reckless. To Harry, this loyalty and solidarity were unmistakable. His friends had always supported him fully. From practicing the Summoning Charm for the Triwizard Tournament, to researching surviving underwater and destroying Horcruxes, to aiding his adventures, they had been there. Beyond the serious trials, their shared humor and laughter revealed a close bond.
Though it risked punishment, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had broken school rules when necessary to protect Harry. In Dumbledore’s memories, Harry saw their staunch commitment to Dumbledore’s Army, even as discovery loomed. Their counsel on relationships and school proved invaluable; without it, Harry’s path could have strayed. That this alternate Harry cherished their friendship said much about its worth.
When Harry was upset, Hermione and Ginny would comfort him with a gentle touch and soothing silence, understanding that words weren’t always necessary. Their quiet presence at his side, unafraid and unjudging, gave Harry immense reassurance that he could never fully express.
Looking in the mirror during the second task, Harry had seen the same bright green eyes staring back at him, yet they lacked their familiar sparkle. Though his features remained unchanged, his gaze held an unfamiliar emptiness. This boy reflected in the glass seemed lost in a way that the old Harry never was. At the time, he had dismissed the strange reflection to focus on finishing the task. But now, realizing how much his friends’ faith meant to him, Harry wondered: who was he really becoming? With his treasured memories locked away and his eyes now lifeless, he felt disconnected from his true self.
Harry wanted to remember certain things, but now his memories felt blocked or altered from his earlier conversation with Ginny. What was the point of recalling his other life? The memories he had seen so far indicated it was time to move on. Yet doubts crept in. Was that really him as a neglected, abused orphan? Were Ron, Hermione, and Ginny truly his steadfast friends who had helped him through it all? Why did he see himself so differently in this world? Could it all be an illusion—a fake reality? But why? Why did he have to experience life this new way? Was it only taunting him, making him feel his missing pieces finally fit together into a happy life? Everything he could wish for was here, appearing miraculously the moment he wanted them.
Harry turned at Hermione’s desperate plea, “please...” and saw tears streaming down her face. “The memories you saw were all real,” she said. “You’ve had an amazing impact on our lives. We couldn’t have done it without you. For many, you’re a symbol of hope… especially for us.”
“We don’t want to go on if you’re not around, mate.” Ron added quietly.
“I’ll never give up on you.” Ginny stated softly, choking back tears but holding Harry’s gaze
The shadowy figure before Harry broke into his thoughts, speaking again in its flat, emotionless voice: “The choice is yours—erase me from existence, or live through the life you witnessed.”
Harry felt his arm lift as if moved by an invisible force, the basilisk fang clutched in his hand rising overhead. His fingers grew icy cold. This was the moment of truth. He had to decide before his mind fractured completely. Though he had already weighed the pros and cons, he found it hard to convince himself this was the right path—yet still, he felt it was for the best.
Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He rubbed his thumb over the smooth basilisk fang for a few seconds as his heart pounded in his ears. Though uncertain if he’d regret it later, plunging the fang into his heart felt like the only right choice in that moment.
Everything happened so quickly. His mind struggled to comprehend what was happening, leaving him unprepared and disoriented. He remembered the core of his life—his friends, who brought him indescribable happiness. Their familiar, comforting faces flashed before his eyes. But the memory vanished instantly as his mind went dark. A blinding, unimaginable pain coursed through him, though strangely he didn’t feel the basilisk fang pierce his chest. Instead it was as if his insides burned fiercely, his skin ripped slowly from his body, and knives sliced every part of him. He couldn’t contain his screams against the overwhelming agony. The slightest movement stabbed through him, forcing stillness. His chest heaved with broken sobs as each breath felt like inhaling fire. Struggling to open his eyes, he saw Ron, Hermione, and Ginny blur like an old photograph, their muted lips moving. The room clouded and disappeared.
----------------------------------------
Overcome with confusion, Harry questioned the ritual he and his friends had performed at the Burrow, as this was not what he had imagined. When he opened his eyes again—or thought he did—all he could see was darkness. Feeling around, he was horrified to find his body was not there—he was merely a disembodied soul trapped in limbo. Squeezing his eyes shut once more, Harry tried to calm himself, chanting over and over in his mind that this couldn’t be real.
Harry landed on solid ground, his heart racing. Opening his eyes just a sliver, afraid of the sight that might greet him, he could make out nothing but a blur at first. He blinked again, trying to clear his vision.
To Harry’s astonishment, his own body reappeared. He stood unsteadily and saw his hands clearly when he held them in front of himself. Just then, rows of tombstones began to materialize in the void around him. Harry looked around before walking cautiously toward a kissing gate at the graveyard’s entrance. Pushing it open, he edged inside.
As Harry ventured deeper into the graveyard, he squinted into the surrounding darkness, feeling apprehensive yet eager each time he passed clusters of headstones. Turning a corner, he halted abruptly—
Beyond a large yew tree, Harry saw a small church. To its left perched an old house, silent and eerie on the hillside. A heaviness pressed on Harry’s chest as foreboding rose within him. He recognized this place, had been here before. Nearby stood a statue of the Angel of Death, its skull face and skeletal hand clutching a raised scythe all too familiar.
Harry gasped for air, struggling to steady his trembling body and regain control. This graveyard was where Voldemort had returned to power, and Harry yearned to flee immediately. He could not endure another moment in that dreadful place. Whirling around desperately to find the exit, he instead stumbled backwards at the sight of Cedric Diggory’s lifeless body splayed on the ground.
For a second that seemed to last forever, Harry stared at Cedric’s face, his open gray eyes blank and empty. All breath left Harry’s lungs; his head spun wildly. He relived the maze of the Third Task, how they had both arrived at the graveyard, and Cedric’s death. A burning prickle filled the corners of Harry’s eyes. He blinked and looked away.
Before Harry could recover from reliving Cedric’s death, more tragedy struck. Lupin and Tonks lay dead before him, their bodies gutting Harry’s heart.
Harry let tears stream down his face as he reached for Tonks and Lupin with trembling hands, desperately wanting to hold them close and apologize for the sacrifices they had made fighting for him, despite having just welcomed their first child. His heart ached at the sight of their motionless bodies.
Harry staggered backward, unable to breathe. A scream caught in his throat as he saw Fred Weasley’s body lying lifeless on the ground. Fred had been a constant source of light and laughter during Harry’s years at Hogwarts, and his death was impossible to comprehend. Along with George, the twins had brought much-needed joy to Harry’s life. Knowing Fred would no longer be there for the Weasleys and for him was devastating. Overcome with grief and guilt, Harry wept, blaming himself—if only he had surrendered to Voldemort sooner, Fred might still be alive. The weight of responsibility crushed Harry as he collapsed, crying inconsolably.
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Overcome with grief, Harry blinked back tears at the sight of Dobby’s lifeless body, a knife jutting from his chest. Among the countless dead scattered around him, Harry was devastated to see the still forms of his godfather Sirius, Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody, Snape, and even his beloved owl Hedwig. Their glassy, unseeing eyes and motionless chests were too much to bear. Harry would give anything, even his own life, for the chance to speak with them again and see the spark of life return to their eyes.
Harry’s heart pounded wildly in his chest as his fingers trembled. He could hardly breathe, overwhelmed with guilt that he had survived while others perished. A dull blow struck his stomach and he fell to his knees, consumed by remorse. Things shouldn’t have ended this way. He felt undeserving of life when so many had died. Harry believed he should be the one lying dead instead of them. He had already accepted and welcomed death before arriving here. If facing death now was his fate, he would not resist. Bravely, like his friends and family before him, he would confront the end without fear or retreat.
Harry had barely reached that conclusion when a soft, familiar voice unexpectedly called his name. His breath caught and his heart lurched as he recognized the cold, empty tone that nevertheless offered some small comfort, reassuring him he was not alone in the vast darkness. Eyes opening, he searched for the speaker.
As Harry walked down the corridor, he suddenly noticed light streaming from an open door. Peering inside, he saw a shadowy figure with a billowing cloak. Moving cautiously closer, Harry made out the man’s features - greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.
“Snape?”
Snape’s lip curled into the familiar sneer he always used for Harry, but he ignored it. Standing before Snape brought back that uneasy feeling, as if no time had passed. For a terrible moment, irrational fears filled Harry’s mind—was he dead if he could see and speak to Snape? He tried to shake off the dreadful sensation clawing inside. Just before, he had seen Snape’s body among the dead. His mind must be playing tricks.
“You’re not real,” he said stiffly to Snape, his nerves failing him completely. “This is just a dream,” he murmured, his voice trembling as he spoke almost to himself.
Snape’s black eyes held Harry’s green ones for a moment before he confirmed, “I am only a memory.”
Harry stood confused. Snape’s form was unlike Tom Riddle’s memory, preserved in the diary. Was Snape a Horcrux too? Harry glanced anxiously at his former professor. “Are you saying you’re a—?”
“Certainly not,” Snape replied gravely, as if reading Harry’s thoughts.
Harry felt relieved to hear Dumbledore had destroyed the ring Horcrux, but he wondered how much Snape really knew about them. Had Dumbledore told him what they were? Before Harry could ask, Snape continued speaking.
“Memories are vital, Potter,” he said. “Without them, life is meaningless. Your friends shared theirs with you, did they not?”
“Yes,” Harry replied quietly, recalling the silvery strands of memory that had flowed into him.
“Then you should know, Potter, that their memories contained vital pieces of your past. Without seeing those memories, you wouldn’t be standing before me now. However, I can’t deny that you have a talent for following your reckless instincts to save yourself, even when faced with clear danger.”
Frowning at Snape, Harry found that even as a memory, the professor could hurl insults. Shaking his head, Harry dismissed any attempt to grasp Snape’s meaning, confused as to why he was seeing Snape at all just for viewing his friend’s memories.
Snape asked, “You got them back, didn’t you?” before Harry could process his thoughts once again.
Harry nodded, his head bowed.
“Memories are a powerful thing,” Snape continued. “We have crossed paths once again because you have seen mine. You do remember, don’t you?”
Harry nodded solemnly and quickly glanced up at him. Upon returning to Dumbledore’s office, Harry had gone straight to the Pensieve to witness Snape’s double life and how he had spent his final years fighting for what was right.
“That served as the catalyst for me to manifest in your mind—or some part of me, at least. As amusing as it may sound, I presume you must have been subconsciously thinking about me a great deal when you landed in this place.”
Snape, seemingly willing himself not to laugh. Was he really thinking about the man who had tormented him for years? It seemed unlikely, yet Harry now wondered why Snape was on his mind. He considered the possibility that he was missing the professor who had loathed him since childhood. Though severe and often unfair, Snape had spent his life trying to atone for one terrible mistake, earning Harry’s growing but unspoken respect. Still, it puzzled Harry that of all people, it was Snape who filled his thoughts. Was it just the man’s lingering presence taunting him?
“Believe it or not, I’ve come to help you out again,” Snape said, injecting his voice with as much reluctance as possible.
Harry stared at him blankly, asking “What do you mean?”
Snape turned his head to gaze at the dead bodies before staring back at Harry. “It seems you have once again found yourself in a situation beyond your control,” he said.
Harry furrowed his brow in silence. While it was true he had survived countless life-threatening situations by luck alone, this time he had to admit Snape was right—he felt utterly trapped.
Snape paused, allowing Harry another glance at the lifeless bodies of his loved ones around him, before continuing, “You understand what this means, don’t you?”
Harry felt frustrated as he tried to comprehend Snape’s intentions. He had already accepted responsibility for their deaths. With uncertainty, Harry looked back at Snape and said, “I still don’t understand what you mean.”
Snape eyed him with disdain before lazily walking towards his own dead body. “Typical,” he said. “I shouldn’t have expected you to understand any of this.”
Harry decided to ignore the insult. Instead, he watched his former professor closely. Snape examined their surroundings without any trace of emotion.
“This is not real,” Snape said as he lifted his lifeless wrist to inspect it briefly before letting it drop again. “It’s only a vision happening in your mind, Potter.”
“Are you saying you’re just an illusion?” Harry asked, utterly confused.
“No, that’s not the case,” he replied. “As I explained earlier, I’m a memory, not a figment.”
Harry frowned in concentration as he tried to recall a similar situation. He was sure he had faced a similar ordeal with someone else in a white room, unlike his current surroundings. Then it struck him—it was Dumbledore! But Harry still had questions. “Sir, did Dumbledore send you?” he asked.
Snape raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think that?”
“I had an unusual experience where I saw Dumbledore after Voldemort hit me with the Killing Curse, which I thought had killed me. Dumbledore and I had a conversation—it felt bizarre and dreamlike, just like talking to you now, since I know both you and Dumbledore are dead.”
“Indeed,” Snape said. “Dumbledore himself could be a memory. He was someone who left a mark on your life and cared for you. After all, you’ve seen his memories, haven’t you?”
Harry nodded, recalling the memories Dumbledore had shown him during their private lessons in sixth year about Tom Riddle’s past. He wondered if viewing someone’s memories forged an automatic connection between them. Though hesitant to broach a sensitive subject, he knew he must ask Snape to confirm what he glimpsed in the man’s memory.
“Does your presence here mean that you care about this, too?”
Snape remained silent, his grim black eyes fixed on Harry as if carefully weighing his response. Harry briefly wondered if Snape might admit to caring for him, but was too guarded to say it aloud. Yet Harry knew better than to expect sympathy or cheer from Snape, who had never shown him either. Still, Harry understood the pain that drove Snape, and the difficult life he’d led to shield Harry from Voldemort.
After a moment’s pause, Snape replied, “Yes.”
Caught off guard, Harry realized Snape’s reply to him rang with sincerity. Though uncharacteristic, the honesty put him at ease. He looked at Snape with newfound respect. The time to express his gratitude for all Snape had done was nearly gone.
Harry whispered, “Thank you.” At that moment, a flood of words begged to be said, but he couldn’t utter them. He had misjudged Snape from the start of his time at Hogwarts, and the revelation that Snape was not who Harry thought crushed him. Snape devoted his life to keeping Harry safe, an act of heroism and sacrifice beyond measure.
Snape gazed at Harry as if he wanted to speak, but broke eye contact to glance again at the lifeless bodies. “This is merely a test, Potter,” Snape explained. “You’re confronting one of the immense guilts you may have suppressed within.”
Harry said nothing, mournfully staring at his deceased loved ones.
Snape continued, “The ghosts appear before you now because you feel responsible for their deaths. This guilt keeps you trapped here instead of returning to the real world.”
“Why?” Harry asked quietly, a trace of anxiety in his voice. “I don’t think there’s anything more I can do except accept their deaths.”
Snape stared at Harry intensely. “Do you remember the Occlumency lessons? Didn’t I instruct you to discipline your mind? You will be easily provoked if you continue dwelling on painful memories. Are you telling me you are still vulnerable? That you still cannot regulate your emotions?”
“I am not weak,” Harry replied.
“Then demonstrate it to me!” Snape demanded, grasping Harry’s shoulders firmly. “You must confront and accept that their passings were not your fault. You must come to terms with the fact that they sacrificed themselves not just for you, but for their ideals.”
“But can’t you concede that none of this would have transpired if Voldemort had not acted on the prophecy?” Harry contended.
“You are not to blame for their deaths, Potter. Voldemort engineered the circumstances that led to their demise, and he alone bears responsibility. This tragedy was never your fault.”
“If I had never been born, they would still be alive,” Harry mumbled under his breath as an unpleasant, constricting sensation formed in his chest.
Snape’s voice was cold and full of pure loathing as he responded, “Yes, I suppose I shouldn’t have wasted my life trying to keep you safe.” His eyes flashed with disgust as he continued, “What an ungrateful brat! You clearly don’t appreciate the life you’ve been given, but try thinking of others too—it’s not always about you.” Scoffing, he went on, “I won’t deny that some have had similarly foolish thoughts, but unlike you, they continue striving to live in spite of their flaws.”
Overcome with regret, Harry instantly wished he could take back what he had revealed to Snape. “I—” he stumbled over his words, avoiding eye contact with his professor, “I’m sorry.”
Snape’s dark, cold eyes narrowed as he looked at Harry. “You do nothing but complain, Potter,” he said sharply. “Even someone as dim as you should know why I’m here right now. Remind me—why did I reveal myself to you at this moment?”
“So I can learn to control my mind,” Harry replied tensely.
“And have you accomplished that yet?” Snape demanded.
Harry was struggling to concentrate as Snape stared at him with fury. How could he think clearly when the person tutoring him harbored such animosity? Harry scoffed at his own thoughts; whether in person or as a memory, Snape would always be completely unpleasant.
Without responding to his former Potions professor, Harry moved toward Sirius’s body. Sirius’s face was still frozen in the same fearful surprise from when he had fallen through the ancient archway and vanished behind the Veil. Struggling to control his anguish, Harry met his godfather’s lifeless eyes. More than anyone, Sirius had grasped how darkness could scar a person. His life stood as testament that one could eventually transcend such shadows.
“You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us?” Harry remembered Sirius speaking those words, offering him a different home once his name was cleared. There were many other memories with Sirius that Harry wished he’d had the chance to change.
Harry looked up at Snape, standing silently behind him, then back at Sirius. Resting his hand on his godfather’s arm, Harry thought to himself that Snape was right. Sirius, I hope you know I couldn’t have survived those darkest days without you, Harry said silently. In our short time together, you gave me so much. I truly appreciate it all. You don’t need to worry about me anymore. Wherever you are now, I know you’ve found much-needed happiness. As he thought these words, a lone tear escaped Harry’s eye. He would miss Sirius immensely but knew his godfather was in a better place. Harry cracked a small smile as he pictured Sirius running joyfully toward James and Lupin. Until we meet again, Padfoot...
Harry’s gaze landed on Lupin and Tonks, bringing a sharp pang of guilt as he recalled seeing them lifeless alongside Dumbledore, Dobby, Fred, and the other fallen. Overcome, he struggled to suppress the urge to cry.
Harry felt as though he had returned to his third year at Hogwarts, when Lupin resigned from teaching. Losing Lupin as a professor had left him miserable then, and now the thought of never seeing Lupin again was unbearable. But just as Sirius was, Lupin and Tonks were with him in spirit. Harry imagined that if Lupin could see him grieving in the graveyard, he might hand over a chocolate to lift his spirits, as he often had at school.
Harry wiped away the tears rolling down his cheeks as he looked at Lupin and Tonks one last time. He thought to himself, Thank you for being the greatest teacher and friend I’ve ever known. I’m so grateful for the wonderful times we shared and the respect and understanding you both showed me until the very end. I wish I could tell you how much those moments meant to me. Your sacrifices, after only recently becoming parents, I will always appreciate more than you know.
Blinking away tears, Harry thought he glimpsed the ghostly outlines of Lupin and Tonks in the distance, their faint shapes watching over him. Yet when he looked again, he wondered if it was just a figment of his imagination.
Harry’s gaze moved slowly over the bodies before him. He spoke to each one, though he knew they could not hear him. Still, he hoped his message might reach them somehow. When he finished speaking, his eyes were swollen with tears.
Harry imagined how his friends would react if they saw him now: Dobby rushing over with tea or dabbing at tears, gazing up anxiously; Mad-Eye Moody bellowing “Constant vigilance!” at his pitiful condition; Fred sending a toilet seat to get him laughing again.
I will see you all again in time.
As another tear threatened to fall, Harry watched the bodies fade away before his eyes until nothing remained. Frantic, he scanned his surroundings, relieved to find memory-Snape still present despite the corpse’s disappearance.
“They’ve vanished,” Harry said anxiously. To his surprise, Snape’s mouth curled into a faint smile.
Snape’s eyes flashed with triumph as he watched Harry closely and said, “The reason you’re no longer seeing them is because you have finally accepted their deaths. It’s time for me to leave as well.”
Harry’s worried expression turned to panic as Snape announced his intent to leave. Trapped in the vast, pitch darkness, Harry pleaded “Leave? But—” only to be cut off.
“My task here is complete,” Snape stated with finality. “However, there is another waiting to see you.”
“Who?” Harry demanded anxiously.
But Snape didn’t reply. His eyes filled with longing and happiness, he gazed beyond Harry at something—or someone—in the distance.
Turning slowly, Harry followed Snape’s line of sight. Two silhouetted figures stood far away, too indistinct to identify. Yet something about their shapes stirred a sense of familiarity in Harry.
“Are they…” Harry’s words faded as he turned and saw that Snape had vanished. His heart sank, regretting that he’d missed the chance to thank Snape for all he had sacrificed.
“Thank you,” Harry whispered into the empty darkness where Snape had stood just moments before.
Harry’s heart pounded as he gazed ahead, curious about the figures emerging from the darkness. Could this be his chance to escape? Hope and trepidation flooded Harry’s heart in equal measure.
To be continued...