The Final Fantasy

 

However, when he gets to the door, he turns around again to face me. "Can you... get me the Pensieve for a minute?"

"What? Why?" I ask him, bewildered. "You don't really believe that I would have left my... The Pensieve is empty now."

He smirks. "Obviously. I'm not as naïve as you think, Professor. But no; it's me who wants to remove some thoughts from my memory. Please."

"Mr Potter, I can't see any purpose to this."

"Please, Professor. The sooner you get me the Pensieve, the sooner I'll be able to leave you alone."

The absurdity of the situation overwhelms me. "Very well," I tell him, and go to the shelf where I keep the stone basin, which I haven't returned to the Headmaster only because I wanted to play with my fantasies one last time.

I hand him the Pensieve.

He touches his head with his wand, and a silvery-white strand flows to the basin.

Then he hands me the Pensieve, as if inviting me to see its contents. I look inside, wary; curiosity has always been one of my annoying and uncontrollable traits.

I held the Pensieve and observe Harry's strands of memory.

Two old wizards walk on a beach, their arms around each other. Their hair is white, like Albus's. One of them has unruly hair. My suspicions are confirmed when I see his emerald-green eyes. I recognise the other too - he has been in my mirror for almost forty years. However, I have never seen such serenity in his expression before. Now they stop and gaze into each other's eyes. The emotion in that gaze, in both black and green eyes, is indescribable. It's as if two lives are summed up there, and the result is a simple word: "yes". Yes, it was worthwhile.

They kiss, bodies fitting together perfectly, but suddenly I'm not looking at them any more: I'm looking at the real Harry, who's holding my hand. I turn to him and embrace him.

"All right. You win."

 

The End


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Ptyx, January 2005