The Latest Shard

Memories

A/N: This chapter contains snippets from the original "Harry Potter and the Deatly Hollows" story.

The italics indicate my additions or amends to the original text, which had been written by great J.K. Rowling with all due respect and love for the author and her great work, which inspired so many fan written fiction stories out there, including this one.

These snippets from the original book are necessary to better understand my story, which follows afterwards, and to see what I've seen in the book, and which inspired me to try and fill in the holes and inconsistencies I've found, allowing me to invent this story exactly like it is.

 ~8~8~8~

 He stood up, looking around. Was he in some great Room of Requirement? The longer he looked, the more there was to see. A great domed glass roof glittered high above him in sunlight. Perhaps it was a palace. All was hushed and still, except for those odd thumping and whimpering noises coming from somewhere close by in the mist. . . .

Harry turned slowly on the spot, and his surroundings seemed to invent themselves before his eyes. A wide-open space, bright and clean, a hall larger by far than the Great Hall, with that clear, domed glass ceiling. It was quite empty. He was the only person there, except for —

The same noise continued to reach him through the unformed nothingness that surrounded him: the small soft thumpings of something that flapped, flailed, and struggled. It was a pitiful noise, yet also slightly indecent. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was eavesdropping on something furtive, shameful.

He recoiled. He had spotted the thing that was making the noises. It had the form of a small, naked child, curled on the ground, its skin raw and rough, flayed-looking, and it lay shuddering under a seat where it had been left, unwanted, stuffed out of sight, struggling for breath.

He was afraid of it. Small and fragile and wounded though it was, he did not want to approach it. Nevertheless he drew slowly nearer, ready to jump back at any moment. Soon he stood near enough to touch it, yet he could not bring himself to do it. He felt like a coward. He ought to comfort it, but it repulsed him.

"You cannot help." That decided it: Harry picked up the monstrous baby and spun around.

Albus Dumbledore was walking toward him, sprightly and upright, wearing sweeping robes of midnight blue.

"Harry." He spread his arms wide, and his hands were both whole and white and undamaged. "You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us walk." The baby in Harry's arms wailed louder and kicked an air with its twisted ugly legs. Harry patted it on the cheek and hushed lowly. Then he followed the Headmaster and they walked and talked for a long time and he was holding the baby close to his chest, calming and lulling it to sleep the whole time.

When they at last finished their long and hard discussion 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."