Change the Future

DH 30

He was lying facedown on the ground 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 had been knocked sideways by the fall, cutting into his temple. Every inch of him ached, and the place where the Killing Curse had hit him felt like the bruise of an ironclad punch. He did not stir but remained exactly where he had fallen, with his left arm bent out at an awkward angle and his mouth gaping. He had expected to hear cheers 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. "My Lord"

"That will do," Voldemort's voice said. 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 millimeter. 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. Harry closed his eyes again and considered what he had seen. The Death Eaters had been huddled around Voldemort, who seemed to have fallen to the ground. Something had happened when he had hit Harry with the Killing Curse. 

"My Lord, let me"

"I do not require assistance," Voldemort said coldly, and though he could not see it, Harry pictured Bellatrix withdrawing a helpful hand. "The boy. Is he dead?" There was complete silence in the clearing. Nobody approached Harry, but he felt their concentrated gaze it seemed to press him harder into the ground, and he was terrified a finger or an eyelid
might twitch. "You," said Voldemort, and there was a bang and a small shriek of pain. "Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead." Harry did not know who had been sent to verify. He could only lie there, with his heart thumping traitorously, and wait to be examined. Hands, softer than he had been expecting, touched Harry's face, pulled back an eyelid, crept beneath his shirt, down to his chest, and felt his heart. He could hear the woman's fast breathing, her long hair tickled his face. He knew that she could feel the steady pounding of life against his ribs.

"Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?" The whisper was barely audible; her lips were an inch from his ear, her head bent so low that her long hair shielded his face from the onlookers.

"Yes," he breathed back. He felt the hand on his chest contract; her nails pierced him. 
Then it was withdrawn. She had sat up. 

"He is dead!" Narcissa Malfoy called to the watchers.

"Thank you" Lily mouths to her as Narcissa sends her a smile in return.

And now they shouted, now they yelled in triumph and stamped their feet, and through his eyelids, Harry saw bursts of red and silver light shoot into the air in celebration. Still feigning death on the ground, he understood. 

"You see?" screeched Voldemort over the tumult. "Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! Crucio!" Harry had been expecting it, knew his body would not be allowed to remain unsullied upon the forest floor; it must be subjected to humiliation to prove Voldemort's victory. He was lifted into the air, and it took all his determination to remain limp, yet the pain he expected did not come. He was thrown once, twice, three times into the air. His glasses flew off and he felt his wand slide a little beneath his robes, but he kept himself floppy and lifeless, and when he fell to the ground for the last time, the clearing echoed with jeers and shrieks of laughter. "Now," Voldemort said, "we go to the castle, and show them what has become of their hero. Who shall drag the body? No Wait" There was a fresh outbreak of laughter, and after a few moment Harry felt the ground trembling beneath him. "You carry him," Voldemort said, "He will be nice and visible in your arms, will he not? Pick up your little friend, Hagrid. And the glasses put on the glasses he must be recognizable" Someone slammed Harry's glasses onto his face with deliberate force, but the enormous hands that lifted him into the air were exceedingly gentle. Harry could feel Hagrid's arms trembling with the force of his heaving sobs; great tears splashed down upon him as Hagrid cradled Harry in his arms, and Harry did not dare, by movement or word, to intimate to Hagrid that all was not, yet, lost. "Move," Voldemort said, and Hagrid stumbled forward, forcing his way through the close-growing trees, back through the forest. Branches caught at Harry's hair and robes, but he lay quiescent, his mouth lolling open, his eyes shut, and in the darkness, while the Death Eaters crowed all around them, and while Hagrid sobbed blindly. The two giants crashed along behind the Death Eaters. The victorious procession marched on toward the open ground, and after a while Harry could tell, by the lightening of the darkness through his closed eyelids, that the trees were beginning to thin.