Chapter Text
Broken Blade
A Harry Potter/The Hobbit/Lord of the Rings Crossover
By Sif Shadowheart
Warning! This story contains Slash!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings belong to their owners, publishers, etc. This is a fan-authored fiction with no monetary infringement intended.
Author’s Note: The title of this story comes from one of the most famous quotes/poems in Tolkien’s works:
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes, a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king
Chapter One: In Shadows Deep
Harry James Potter – Harry to most – stared out with unseeing eyes over the Irish Sea from his hotel room balcony. Devastated to his bones by the dual blows dealt to his heart courtesy of the message carried by a Ministry owl in the cold words of one Percival Weasley. He’d left the warm confines of what until now had been his sanctuary in the chaos following his most recent battle against the ever-growing Dark Forces.
December on the Isle of Man wasn’t exactly balmy.
But it had been peaceful, and heart-wound soothing – which was what he’d needed after fight after skirmish after battle against the evil that seemed to ever-bloom in some magical hearts.
Dead, the owl read.
They’re all dead.
Ron.
Hermione.
The entire Weasley clan who had been gathered at the Burrow to celebrate Ginny’s engagement to Dean Thomas after nearly ten years of waffling.
Percy, ever the workaholic, had been held up by his job with the Department of International Cooperation, trying to finish negotiations over the location of the Quidditch World Cup five years hence.
But it was the final name in the shaky-grief-stricken hand of Percy that killed the small spark he’d managed to rekindle inside himself in the few weeks he’d been whiling away in seclusion.
Teddy.
Just the sound of his name sundered his carefully built walls around his deepening grief.
His Teddy, his little Moonlet.
Harry sucked in a harsh breath, filled with an impotent rage that threatened to eclipse his grief.
He hadn’t even a villain to hunt down and bring to justice – no. Someone, likely a moment of collusion between Harry’s boss and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Gawain Robards and Percy, had kept him in total ignorance of the hate-filled crime until Harry’s own Auror forces had captured those responsible and the Wizengamot sentenced them to the Dementor’s Kiss. Well. At least it wasn’t the Veil.
Not one of those bastards deserved a chance of going on to an afterlife so easily.
Harry wished he could say he was surprised over the unilateral decision that had been made for him…but he wasn’t.
Not in the least little bit.
No, that was just par for the course for Harry, wasn’t it?
The Wizarding World had proven time and again that they can and will betray his trust, over and over and over again. The reason – invariably – being “for his own good”, though every once and awhile it would be down to simple greed, jealousy or envy over the “illustrious” position Harry “enjoyed” in magical society as the Man Who Conquered or He-Who-Slays-Dark-Lords. He believed his current body count of bona-fide “Dark Lords” was somewhere in the double digits as every megalomaniacal asshole in Europe tried to fill Voldemort’s decaying shoes.
It always ended the same – whoever it was got caught out in their betrayal, hells sometimes they don’t even realize that was what their actions were – and he got hurt.
After fucking dying for these people you’d think that they’d back off a little and actually trust him but this – keeping him from even attending the funerals of his fucking family – this proved that there was nothing he could ever do to break free from the manipulations and being treated as little more than a figurehead, no matter how many times he’s proven himself one of the most dangerous Aurors alive.
He cursed under his breath.
His presence probably wouldn’t have changed the outcome of the hunt…but maybe it would have kept a few more rookie Aurors alive.
They’d never know…because he didn’t have the trust and loyalty of his own Auror force.
How was he supposed to keep leading them if they didn’t even trust him?
Swiping roughly at the tears that managed to seep out from under clenched-tight eyelids, Harry shuddered with bone-deep weariness.
He didn’t even know where to begin continuing on as a regular Auror after this, let alone their Head. This latest…situation had driven home something he’d already been fighting all his life. As far as the Ministry was concerned, he was merely a figurehead. Someone to point out to the new Aurors and say: “he saved the world, so can you.”
Even Kingsley had become infected with the insanity after a dozen years as Minister of Magic.
With Ron, Hermione, and worst of all little Teddy gone…there seemed little point to even pretending at the game of Harry Potter: Head Auror anymore.
Everyone was gone, still he remained, cut off and sequestered from the only ones who might have managed to help pull him out of his own head and back into fighting the never-ending fight against the Dark.
His parents, now his friends. His godson, but first his own godfather, and so many more without end.
All gone.
Though of them all, only Sirius was perhaps the wound that would never heal.
There was simply something…unfinished about the whole affair with the Department of Mysteries that still bothered and chafed at him – a wound that scabbed over but didn’t even begin to close, even after all this time.
“Come now, pup,” a voice called softly from the shadows. “You can’t be cryin’ for an old dog like me, now can ya, Prongslet?”
Whirling, he gasped as the figure stepped out of the shadows, the weak winter sun shining brashly against raven’s-wing hair.
“Sirius?!”
Lunging into open, wiry arms, he unbalanced them, sending them both crashing into the shaded wall beside the balcony doors.
“Shh, now.” He comforted his godson as he began to sob, Harry’s tears soaking his plain black t-shirt. Lifting one elegant, pale hand, he stroked Harry’s hair as he rested his chin on a wild-black-maned head, pulling him deeper into his embrace. “Calm now, Prongslet.” Sirius whispered, conscious of the time. “We don’t have long and there’s much for me to tell you.”
Nearly whimpering Harry pressed his ear against that tattooed chest, reveling in the steady beat he heard there.
“You’re really gone,” Harry whispered, as all doubted created by a slow fall into a Veil was wiped away, titling his head back so he could look into piercing grey eyes and watch the light bounce off of the planes and hallows of his face – a face too smooth and young to be the result of anything but a long rest. “Aren’t you?”
It was as much of a plea to be wrong as it was a question.
“Aye, pup.” Sirius said, grieving for all that Harry’d been through and what had yet to pass. His sweet little Prongslet, the apple of his eye. He’d been through so much. If ever there was a Champion deserving of peace and rest it was him. But Siri didn’t get to make the rules and there are some that aren’t meant to be broken – even by an old Marauder like him. Damn Dumbledore and his manipulations anyway, even more than old Tom and his fear of Death. He’d known, even as he’d comforted his pup on his last walk, that there would be consequences for what was to pass. Only as ever it wouldn’t be the truly deserving who would have to deal with them. Not old Snake-Face or Twinkle-eyed bastard.
It was his pup.
All of them had argued the case with the, well, powers until they’d been exhausted. Him, Remus, James, Lily, not to mention all of the true friends Harry had lost. They all had sought any outcome besides the one that originally awaited his Prongslet.
Eventually…one was offered.
But it came with a hefty price tag and only upon the intervention of a different set of powers than those in charge of their universe. Powers called the Valar that have a soft spot for Champions and heroes.
Like Harry.
“I’m well and truly gone.”
Sighing, Harry steeled himself while snuggling deeper into strong, comforting arms.
“What’s the damage, then?” He asked knowing that the only way Siri could be here like this is as a messenger from Death or whatever deity had taken an interest in him now.
“When you came back to life thanks to old Dumbles’s elaborate fucking manipulations you did more than upset the Balance that you’d righted by your death in the first place. You broke some big fucking rules – as did Albus for plotting and piloting the whole thing. There’s always…”
“Consequences.” Harry bit off, just shy of a snarl hiding his face in Siri’s old leather jacket.
“Exactly, pup.” Sirius nodded. “Unless I’m mistaken you’ve already figured out the what of things if not the whys.”
“I can’t die anymore.” Harry whispered, voice broken and eyes bleak. “Can I?”
He’d taken a lot of wounds over the years, most notably a bullet to the chest from Vernon after the Dursleys crawled out of their safe house after the war and a stab wound to the stomach from an irate Bellatrix before she died and yet…he lived. The others who kept him “safe” and dumb in his isolated little bubble until they needed him never noticed but his scars – even the most famous of them – have slowly faded and disappeared as well. Harry was willing to bet it was either down to the Hallows or his minor case of death that had done it.
“No, Harry.” Sirius brushed away his tears. “You can’t. Once a hero’s soul leaves the reward that awaits them – and make no mistake, Albus manipulating the setting or not, that’s exactly where you were – for whatever reason it can’t return. And rather than sentence a Champion to damnation or the in-between the powers…well, mostly Death…they cheated pup. You can’t die, can’t be killed. You’re eternal now, immortal as ever Tommy or Albus or Gellert had wished to be. Truly immortal. But…”
“I’m the only one.” Harry turned, even as he stayed tucked in his godfather’s arms, staring out across the desolate sea once more. Men all want to be immortal until they actually realize what that truly means. To be alone, set apart, a freak, forever. “Alone, forever.” He let his head thud back against Sirius’s chest. “Fuck, Siri. I’ll go crazy before the end of things, or will that not kill me either?”
“It wouldn’t.” He answered his godson honestly, no matter how much it hurt, locking his arms around the small – too small – form. Harry would drift, cut off from other life but completely aware. And it would not do. Not for his Prongslet. “This universe, this world, it wasn’t designed for one like you, pup.”
Harry rolled that around for a long moment.
This universe.
This world.
“There’s another that is.” He looked up into sad quicksilver eyes. “Isn’t there?”
“Yeah, pup.” Sirius sighed. “There is. But it would mean saying goodbye to everyone and everything you know. There’d be no more of these little chats, Harry. No seeing Neville and Luna’s lot grow and nurturing them. No more sparring with Kingsley or arguing with Percy. If you do this it’s a total disconnect. Absolutely cut off from this place forever and hurled into another. ‘m not allowed to tell you about that world. Part of the deal is you going on faith. But I can tell you one thing. They’ve a place there. A place where a not-quite-human Champion might be welcome. They call it the Undying Lands.”
“Might?” Harry arched a brow, ignoring the not-quite-human bit for now, thinking it might only be a nod to his magic or the Hallows.
“Have to be deemed worthy, pup.” Thunder cracked overhead and Sirius gave a wince. He was a smidge too close to saying too much. “By them.”
“You mean I have to fight someone else’s war all over again.” Harry heaved a soul-weary sigh. As if winning the last one, and the one before that, and the one before that, going back to his infancy wasn’t enough. Now because his one-time mentor set things up to tear him from his rest, his peaceful reward, he’s being made to choose between an eternity of loss and loneliness and the chance – however faint – of a new place of comfort and peace in some distant and strange world.
Sirius kept quiet, already knowing what his godson’s answer was going to be. A fighter he was, and always had been. A Black of the blood in all things. At least he’d been allowed this last goodbye.
“And what about…” Harry’s voice cracked. “What about love? Will I find that there as well?”
It was a rather pertinent question, given how no matter what he’d tried or who had made an attempt on his affections, Harry’s heart had remained untouched save by his chosen family.
Hermione…his breath caught even as his mind continued on. Hermione had had the idea that Harry had been meant for someone…but that for whatever reason had never met them. Harry had been willing to go one further. There was more than one meaning of equals after all.
And gods knew…there had never been anyone more like him – or more likely to understand him – than Tom.
Too bad he’d been corrupted, and his soul ruptured, before Harry’s father had even been a twinkle in Grandfather Charlus’s eye.
Sirius didn’t hesitate, not even for a second.
“A heart as big and loving as yours, pup?” Sirius gave his godson a big doggy grin, near to blinding in its brilliance. “I don’t doubt it in the least. The next bird – or bloke – might even be worth of such a priceless gift, not like little starry-eyed Ginny or noseless Tommy-boy.”
Harry winced.
“You knew about that?”
“He was a handsome bastard in the beginning, I’ll give him that.” Sirius said neatly. “It wasn’t a surprise after hearing about your second year that you had a bit of a crush on him – gods know enough people did over the years – and if you’re worried about a bad reaction to being bent…well.” Sirius rolled his eyes with a sheepish grin. “My hypocrisy doesn’t stretch quite that far.”
“At least I won’t have any hard acts to follow.” Harry sighed, thinking of his non-existent love life and pushing down his grief for a moment. “In this new place.”
“You’ll go then?” Sirius clarified, happy for him but sad for their former world all the same. It would be a much darker, drearier place without his Prongslet, that was for certain.
“Was there ever a doubt that I wouldn’t?”
They laughed together, then with a crack of light they both disappeared.
Harry felt his head spin and his stomach churn as the whiplash of shifting through time and space rocketed through his body. It was similar to the disorientation he’d felt the first time he took a Portkey or was Side-Along Apparated…but much, much worse. His eyes eventually cleared after the spinning stopped and his stomach settled…only instead of finding himself in his “new world” he was standing in a long-gone piece of his first one. A piece that he would’ve been thankful to never see again.
He was in the Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton, in the massive front room that he’d raided after the end of the Second Blood War, complete with a statue of a knock-off Michaelangelo staring down at him.
Two things were different from his memories, however.
One being the strong arms that still held him tight as Sirius traveled with him, and the cowl-cloaked dark figure that leaned nonchalantly against the towering statue that had been destroyed when detection spells had revealed it to hide a cache of Dark magical artifacts.
“Hey kid.” Death said with a grin, beaming down at the unsurprised form of Harry with a macabre grin. “You’ve done good.”
“What are we doing here?” He asked with a sigh, rolling his eyes for good measure at the apparent approval of his life-choices which he himself, personally, thought could have used quite a bit of work.
“Thought a familiar place would be better than – well – nothing, to explain the way this is going to work.” Death said with a shrug. “It was either this or King’s Cross…and I think you’ve had enough of the latter.” The apparition nodded at Harry’s companion. “Sirius.”
Sighing himself, the dark-haired Marauder turned his godson to face him then cradled his face in his hands, placing a tender kiss upon his brow.
“Time for me to go, pup.” He said with regret. He wished fleetingly for more time but knew that no measure of time granted him would be enough with his pup. “Now listen to me, you dozy git.” He said with a teasing smirk. “Don’t go mourning me or your parents or even the Great Prat himself. Not even wee Teddy. Those of us that’ve gone on are together and those that haven’t are sure to join us, you hear me pup? Remember what you were told once pup?”
“The next great adventure.” He whispered brokenly.
“Yeah, Harry.” He captured him in a rib-crushing hug, determined to make his godson feel all of the things he didn’t have time to tell him. “All that and more, I promise.”
Sirius gave him one last kiss to his hair, as gentle as a butterfly’s wing, and cast Death a cautioning look, commanding the entity to take damn good care of his pup while he’s in the being’s charge.
“I love you, Prongslet.” Sirius gently stroked his cheek, wiping away a stray tear, before releasing him and stepping away. “All of us do – and we always will.”
“I love you too, Padfoot.” His eyes drowning in tears were the last thing Sirius saw as a portal opened and he cast one last brilliant smile over his shoulder before stepping through.
“I know you do, pup.” His voice echoed around him as Sirius’s form disappeared from his sight – this time forever. “I know you do. I’ll give your best to Prongs and the rest, yeah?”
Bracing himself, Harry took a deep breath and turned once more to face Death.
“Lay it on me.” He said, squaring his shoulders and donning the “Head Auror/Hero of the Wizarding World” persona, melding it into his “Harry” act and the “Freak” he’d always been until he was finally united. Wherever he was going, he was done hiding who he was – all of who he was. Tired to the bone of hiding his power and intelligence so others didn’t feel threatened, shielding himself behind his affable – but brave – facade. The time for Harry the Golden Gryffindor was gone. Freak was an extraordinary boy being punished by a jealous mundane world. Hadrian, Lord Peverell was still too heavy for him…hmm. Maybe not. It was a name for a leader and a general after all, both things he’d been for however short a time.
Death watched the change come over his charge in blatant approval. He believed this new start and new world was just what the deity ordered. He was needed there. As for everything else…well. He wouldn’t be making any bets with Sirius or James, that’s for sure. Harry had a habit of defying all odds, predictions, and prophecies.
“The world you’ll be going to will be rather medieval to your eyes – even from a wizarding world perspective. They’ve no use or need for technology there, and it’s populated by many different sentient species with various lands and customs. You’ll be able to speak the three major tongues because the powers of this world can’t predict who you’ll meet first or where you’ll end up. We’ve ceded control of things involving you to the Valar.”
And Death had had one hell of a fight on his hands to push it through.
Fate had not wanted to let go of her favorite toy, and it was only through Magic’s intervention that Death had succeeded in the end.
Magic had always had a soft spot for Harry, not unlike Death itself.
“Valar?”
“Like myself and the other powers that rule this world but dissimilar at the same time.” Death explained with the patience gained of watching countless worlds wax and wane. “They rarely interfere, allowing free will to truly shape their world. If it wasn’t for your feats being so significant they likely would’ve stayed out of these events as well.” Death gave him a ghost of a smile. “But they love Champions and you,” Death shook its head in mock amazement. “You’re the best this world has seen in millennia.”
Harry barked a laugh at that, thinking of what those “feats” cost in terms of sacrifice and blood spilled and hearts broken – both his own and that of others.
“The gist is you’re being sent where you’re most needed. Just watch yourself and trust your instincts and you should do fine.” Death continued, ignoring any attempts at interruptions. “There’s a couple things you can take with you. Close your eyes and think of what clothes you’d like to wear, keeping in mind that you’ll probably be traveling on foot. Think…hunting.” Death tried to guide him as best he could without breaking the agreement between himself and the Valar.
Following the deity’s instructions, Harry chose with care starting from the skin out. Soft – and warm – thermal silk underwear and undershirt. Leather pants that laced up instead of having a zipper in tight-but-flexible matte black. Keeping Death’s words of a medieval society in mind, he chose a tight-woven Acromantula silk and unicorn hair tunic that was unfathomably soft but warm and nearly puncture-proof to hide his goblin-forged steel chain mail shirt, with the only color of his outfit coming from a basilisk-hide leather vest in the deep green of forest leaves over that and a long black basilisk-leather duster over that, both pieces giving him several layers of both warmth and protection – mundane and magical. Flat-heeled dragonhide boots laced up with laces made of dragon heart strings – unbreakable and would never wear out – and cover his knees to protect the joint from damage.
Before his eyes could open, he felt the air stir around him as silk and leather replaced his soft cotton casual wear, forming out from nothing but magic and his own will.
Death cracked another smile, pleased that the abnormally-headstrong man took his warning to heart. With a gesture Death conjured a small metal-bound booklet the size of one of Harry’s hands. Handing it over, the deity explained as Harry opened it, pulling back the protective waxed leather weather-proofing and started to flip through the pages.
“A few spells and mementos you’ll be needing.” Was all the deity said as he cast the being a curious glance. “Your powers can help or hinder as you well know, not to mention your heritage. Be very careful. That book should explain and help guide you. You should at least skim it while I finish preparations, before we leave this place.”
Harry nodded idly, splitting his attention between the script before him and the deity.
“You’re going with weapons – and you’re going to need them. And your clothes, boots, and chain mail undershirt have all been bespelled to stay clean and durable. It would take a magic blade like your Sword of Gryffindor to mar them, your own personal form of armor.”
Harry grinned at that news, no laundromats in his future, not that any likely existed in a medieval world…so no scrubbing clothes in a cold creek or lake. He arched a brow as he understood what he was reading. Well…that was unexpected…
“The Sword is another thing.” Death’s serious tone drew his full attention. “You are the Heir of Gryffindor, though it was hidden from you in your life here. Your courage and your bloodline drew it from its rest and with you it belongs. But there’s no Death Eaters where you’re going, no need for a wand – a tool that would set you apart from others there. You have a few choices. I can bond the Elder Wand to you, giving you a true form of wandless magic, or I can bind it into the Sword or a staff. It’s up to you.”
Harry thought on that a long moment.
It was tempting – to say the least – to have it bound to his person. But part of him regretted that two great weapons were going to be removed from his home. Another part, the rebellious core of him that drove him to spurn both Tom’s offer of joining his cause and Scrimgeour’s of being a poster-boy rejoiced that his favored weapons – now at least – were going to remain in his hands.
Harry had never used a staff before – so that was out – and he’d never really picked up wandless magic well.
That really only left him with one option.
“The Sword can remain a sword.” He decided at last. After all, one of his most deadly fights hadn’t been fought with wand or magic at all…but with the Sword of Gryffindor, against an ancient basilisk. He’d have to suffer through training his body in wandless magic. It wasn’t like he wasn’t going to have the time to manage it after all.
Death snapped his bony fingers and a sheath appeared on his hip – black basilisk leather to match both his vest and duster, finely wrought with a silver mark of the Hallows – the same sign that now graced the pommel of the sword the sheathe held replacing the gaudy gold lion’s head and rubies with the smooth understated gleam of silver inset with deep emerald green from a polished gem inset as the “stone” portion of the sigil.
A deep burning flush of power coursed through Harry’s veins as Death coasted one long finger over the back of Harry’s right and left hands in turn, each becoming marked with the sign of the Hallows in glowing silver before fading away along with the red-hot wave of power that at last died away long moments later. Taking a deep breath, then another, Harry closed his eyes and focused. It wasn’t more than a minute’s work to tuck the remnants of power back away inside his core – a core that ached and burned like an overworked muscle at the sudden expansion having the Elder Wand bound to him forced him to endure. When it was done, he opened his eyes and squared his shoulders, tucking the book still held in one hand – if loosely – away in one of the duster’s pockets, he removed the sword, studying the deadly poisoned blade with a keen warrior’s eye.
Nothing else had been changed, the blade still the gleaming silver of goblin steel with the barest-there tint of venom-green from the basilisk’s venom sacks. Words were engraved in a strange script on either side of the blade – words that neither Harry nor anyone he knew had ever been able to decipher. If felt like his, the same as his wands always had, but more…his all at the same time.
“Why the Hallows symbol and what does it say?” He couldn’t help but ask.
“To remind you of who you were.” Death murmured, one hand gesturing to the pommel, and then to the words. “The other of who you are. The essence of you. Your words. You should be able to read them once you’ve reached your destination.”
Rolling their eyes, Death asked two more questions.
“Bow or crossbow, and where do you want your daggers and quiver?”
“Crossbow.” Harry said immediately. He’d never gained enough height to make a longbow plausible and a compound bow would stick out – to say the least – in an olde world setting. “Daggers left thigh and small of my back, quiver center back, crossbow holstered at my hip opposite the sword.”
He resheathed the beautiful weapon as others appeared on his body according to his instructions. He smiled at the familiar and comforting weight, having gotten used to more “muggle” means over the years. A warrior at heart.
“That’s all I can do for you, Harry.” Death said, regret coloring their tone. Breaking character Death gave him a genuine, soft smile before bowing with a flourish. “You are a true Champion Hadrian James Potter, Lord of House Peverell.” He said rising from his bow. “It has been an honor and a privilege to have known you my dear.”
Gracing Death with a regal nod, Harry stepped through into the swirling vortex that had appeared, and into his new lift, a whimsical thought crossing his mind as the portal closed around him.
“I wonder if they’ll have chocolate…?”
Joining Harry’s departed loved ones, Death studied those assembled – the gathered number would have no doubt shocked the humble warrior. Some like Cedric were those he couldn’t save, no matter how hard he tried. Others that he did save only to die by other means – Mad-Eye among them. Still others that were much closer and dear to him over these last years like Teddy.
And then there were the pains in Death’s ass.
Severus, the Twins, the Potters, Sirius, Remus, Tonks and others made up a ring and neatly boxed Death in.
“Well,” they demanded. “How did it go?”
“He took it better than I expected.” Death said honestly. Part of the deity was entertained by the almost petulant look on James Potter’s – and shockingly Severus Snape’s – face over Sirius getting to see him instead of others like his parents. Catching the questioning look on Fred Weasley’s face, Death grinned knowing what was on his mind. “Severus wins the bet about the Wand. He chose to bond. But he also took the Sword. Anyone who bet on a crossbow over a longbow wins as well.”
Once word of Harry’s possible future made the rounds, many that had known him placed bets of all kinds. If he would even go and what weapons he would choose being the most popular.
“How did you know?” Lily asked her first friend as the snarky former Potions Master pocketed his winnings.
“Know the brat, don’t I?” Severus arched a sardonic brow. “I’ve spent more than enough time in that messy-haired head to know how he thinks. He defeated a basilisk of all things with that Sword, then Longbottom used it to off Nagini. One of the hardest battles Potter ever faced. He likes to be reminded of hard lessons, it keeps him from making the same mistakes twice…which is also why even with his new status the scar from Umbridge’s quill has never faded.”
“And the crossbow?” Tonks asked James, Remus, Sirius, Teddy, and Severus, the only ones to bet on that over a bow – save Lily who abstained from betting on her baby at all.
They traded a glance before Sirius and James gestured for Teddy to explain.
“I almost died from a poisoned arrow shot by a were-hunter.” The pre-teen explained with a shrug. Several of the other newly-dead like the majority of the Weasleys were missing, all still reconciling themselves to being, well, dead. “He never used a bow after that.”
“He didn’t.” Hermione spoke up for the first time. “Couldn’t even take looking at them at the Auror armory from what Ron told me. Some wounds never quite heal, do they?”
Death interrupted the Q&A session before it could continue.
Turning to the gathered group, Death settled into a soft chair with a sigh, knowing this was going to take a while.
“Settle down, kiddos,” they joked. “And let Death tell you all about Harry and what choices he made before leaving for his new home…”