The Truth Will Set You Free

Chapter Eighteen – The Truth Will Set You Free

Deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, a ragged curtain began to flutter, moved by an unseen breeze. Beams of pure white light swirled above and under the rows of stone benches. A very soft tune could be felt more than heard – it told of despair and unfulfilled dreams. Notes like the clear sound of a harp started humming a familiar tune.

Like crystals, the old stones broke the light into a multitude of colors brighter than the sun. The beams danced to the song, giving hope to those lost souls that were stuck between here and the beyond.

As the phoenix song reached its peak, the mystic curtain caught fire. With lightning speed, the colors raced towards the flames, and then down the concealed tunnel behind the veil. They collided with a barely discernable shadow miles under the surface. They were rapidly absorbed, leaving everything to fall into darkness again. The shadow became solid and shifted to form the body of a man – at first indistinct, before the hair lengthened, flowing around the aged but kind face.

The pearly white ghost shook his long beard and smiled. This process was indeed a wonder; he should have it written down in the magical tome that still resided in his old quarters, where it would remain until his rightful heir came to claim it. No time to think about it now though. He had a job to finish and a friend to thank. Closing his eyes, he cast out his soul to reach his destination, his haunt.

Seconds later, he was squeezed through the void that only the immortals had access to – the sensation was similar to that of Apparition – only he had no idea were he would land.

He was mildly surprised when he materialized behind one Arthur Weasley on the second landing of the old Black residence.

He hadn't heard what had been said, but the fact that he was here and not at Hogwarts told him all he needed to know. Severus had finally broken his silence, had broken through his own guilt and thereby lifted his soul from the limbo in between worlds.

"That you did, my boy," Albus Dumbledore said, testing his voice for the first time. It sounded just as kind as it had when he left the realm of the corporeal. He watched in amusement as all faces turned in his direction, his eyes scanning the crowd for the faces of those he had missed the most. He was only mildly surprised to find Severus embracing young Miss Granger. His Potions master had always had a soft spot for the girl, though he had long hidden it from her. His teacher reports about the Gryffindor, however, held nothing but praise.

Next, he looked at the dark-haired young man on the stairs, who was clutching his bleeding shoulder. Had he been able to, he would have cried. Cried for all the pain he had caused him over the years, the pain that his death had added, but most of all because of the darkness that seemed to cling to Harry like an invisible cloak. Something was very wrong.

"You are a ghost," Ron announced, startling the stunned group out of their collective shock.

"Indeed I am, Mr Weasley. Thanks to Severus, my soul was released from the Veil of Death."

The announcement was followed by a lot of muttering; no living man had any knowledge about the making of spiritual beings, and even the ghosts themselves never spoke about it. So of course, people had problems believing there eyes and ears – figments and echoes of deceased loved ones were much more common, and could occur spontaneously.

"How?" Severus asked, his voice shaking. How could it be that Dumbledore had returned to them after months – as a ghost, yes, but still?

"I'm not completely sure," the former headmaster answered. "The guilt you felt weighed heavily on my soul, a spiritual weight keeping me grounded in the dark void, unable to rise."

"I see," Severus said quietly, tightening his arms around Hermione. His eyes stung, but he wouldn't allow himself to cry. He hadn't since he was an eleven-year-old first year – boys should be strong. His father, and later Potter and Black, had made sure he understood that. So, he had learned to bury his emotions deep inside. Hermione had been the first person to break through his shell of indifference and sarcasm to wrap her hands around his heart, warming it, filling it, squeezing it – until it picked up the natural rhythm of life again.

And he could have lost all this again in seconds. He had no doubt that Potter was able to cast an Unforgivable – all it needed was enough hate. And Potter hated him, and it was his own fault. Everything was his fault. It was all too much. The dams broke, flooding him with emotions he had long forgotten he was capable of – and the tears finally came, rolling hotly down his pale cheeks. With a heart-wrenching sob, he buried his face in Hermione's shoulder and started to weep openly.

"We should go downstairs," Remus suggested softly. "Harry needs medical attention, and we haven't eaten yet."

Quietly, the group trotted down the stairs, leaving the two lovers alone. No one knew what else to say or do.

Together Hermione and Severus settled down on their bed after closing and warding the door for privacy. They desperately clung to each other for strength.

"He could have killed you," Hermione whispered. "Oh god, he could have killed you." Her own tears mingled with his as she snuggled still closer to him.

"Shh, he didn't," Severus soothed, his voice still rough from crying. "Everything is going to get better now. With Albus back, there is new hope for us all."

They stayed thus entwined for a long while, occasionally petting their furry savior, or reaffirming their hold on each other. Everything was out in the open now, and with Dumbledore around, Severus was safe.

~o~o~o~

Down in the kitchen, Molly was carefully applying a healing solution to the scratches and bite marks Crookshanks had left on Harry's shoulder, while Bill recounted the events of the last months as best as he could.

"...and we went up the stairs to Hermione's room. What I don't understand is why he shouted," Remus concluded.

"Eh, well, Liquid Bogart, I recon," Fred said, avoiding his mother's gaze.

"Yes, you see," George added, brushing imaginary lint from his robes. "It was a new version, needing only one component."

"We wanted to try it on Percy again, not Snape. We didn't even know he was here," Fred huffed.

Angrily, Molly approached her sons, ready to tell them off.

"Ah, well, thanks to that," Dumbledore said, "we now have the chance to work together towards the final end. It is very disconcerting for me to hear that you did not work together as was my wish. What you discovered had more to do with luck than actual work. We need to strengthen our ties and friendships; they are, after all, what made us strong and helped us overcome so many dark times. With Severus in our midst, we have a chance to end this war."

"I still don't like that you play tricks on your brother," Molly admonished her sons, before waving her wand over the cold meal. In moments, steam rose from the plates and the smell of food filled the room. Slowly people started settling down to finally eat their abandoned dinner. Only Ron and Harry weren't hungry anymore.

"I can't believe Hermione likes the git," Ron grumbled.

"I can't believe she'd choose him over us," Harry added. "I hate him."

"Something weighing on your stomachs?" Dumbledore asked. "If you aren't ready to eat, I'd like to have a little chat with the two of you."

Both boys nodded and followed the former headmaster out of the room.

"Is there somewhere we can talk privately?" Dumbledore asked.

"The attic," Harry answered, leading the way up the stairs. He wanted answers. And he would get them. This time Dumbledore would not be able to placate him with empty words.

And so Dumbledore's ghost recounted the events that led to his death – the curse that had blackened his hand, the poison he had drunk in the cave by the sea, his plea for Snape to do the right thing.

"Wait! Snape had taken an Unbreakable Vow, you said," Harry huffed, still not willing to take everything at face value. "Snape would have killed you anyway, to save his own hide. To me, he is still a murderer."

Harry's voice was calm and devoid of all emotions. And not only Ron felt the drop in the room temperature, though he wisely chose not to comment.

"Harry, think! The Vow said nothing about killing me, only about finishing a task in case young Mr Malfoy couldn't. What that would entail was never directly named. Severus wouldn't have dropped dead the moment he refused to kill me because the task could have been another one entirely," Dumbledore implored.

"I don't see what that changes," Harry growled.

Surprisingly, it was Ron who answered. "Everything, mate. Don't you see that? What Snape said was the truth. He acted the way he did because he had to."

"Did it never occur to you," Dumbledore continued, "that Draco's mother was afraid for her child and went to seek my counsel?"

"I... no... not really," Harry answered, a bit puzzled now.

"Then you didn't think I was aware of what she planned, or indeed that it was I who told her what to do and how to go about it. There were always many people suspicious about Severus' loyalties in the ranks of the Death Eaters. So we made a deal, Mrs Malfoy and I..." Slowly Dumbledore told the two boys about the events that had taken place in Snape's house more than a year ago. Ron and Harry listened intently.

"That doesn't change the fact that he killed you," Harry protested.

"No, it doesn't, but I would have died anyway. He saved me from Greyback and a death at the hands of my enemies. And at the same time he saved the life and innocence of a young man."

"He could have fought them," Harry said, although there was no force behind his words. The truth began to slowly sink in. Had he really been wrong?

"No, Harry, no. It was the only way. My time had come, I felt it."

"Oh god, what did I do!?" Harry's shoulders slumped and he began to shake uncontrollably, his body was wracked by heavy spasms. Ron was talking to Harry in a desperate sounding voice. He had seem this reaction once before, and it didn't bode well.

"Move him to lie on the couch," Dumbledore ordered. He had an idea as to what was causing the reaction in the boy. He could feel the energy around his dark-haired charge change noticeably. The dark was expelled, finding no purchase in Harry's soul now the hate was gone.

Ron complied, lifting his now unconscious friend out of the armchair to deposit him on the plush sofa. The Riddle award flew out of Harry's pocket then, as if guided by an invisible hand. No sooner had it landed on the heavy carpeting, then Harry's body went still. He opened his eyes and blinked against the bright light.

Before Ron or Dumbledore could inquire after his well-being, the award began to tremble and exploded seconds later in a shower of red sparks.

All that remained was ash and an outlandish-looking coin.