All That You Leave Behind

Thanks, as usual, to those of you who reviewed. If you responded with shock and surprise at Sev's death, well, be prepared for more plot twists to come! Special thanks to Cravedom, and no, we never feel tempted to alter things for whiners, well, other than to feature MORE of the characters they whinge about! And no, sorry, we don't feel compelled to compromise our writers integrity, no matter how much whinging is whinged. Sorry! Lilpotter, no, this is not a Severus/Harry/Ginny three some. And Hi! to CruciareMors, thanks for joining us, and thank you for liking our story so much, and not hating Ginny!


As always, reviews are appreciated!


Chapter 69


Ginny blinked as she landed in the foyer of St Mungo’s. Clutching Severus’ body, she felt as though the world had gone entirely crazy. How could all these people just continue their lives as if nothing earth- shattering had taken place? Did they not understand that nothing would be the same again?

Severus was gone.

She glanced down at the limp figure. She kept waiting for him to stand up and glower at her for treating him in so cavalier a way. And, Merlin, how she wished he would scold her! He always used to have a twinkle in his eyes that had told her clearly just how fond of her he really was. And now she’d never see that again.

A sob fought itself free of her shocked body, and a healer hurried over, eyes widening as he took in the well-known figure on the floor, and the equally recognisable woman hanging desperately onto the black robes.

“Mrs Potter?” the voice was gentle, kind, and it was more than Ginny could take.

Her chin began wobbling, and the middle-aged man hurriedly cast a privacy ward so that he could examine her. The dead man on the floor he could do nothing about. An ex-Hogwarts pupil himself, he had never exactly liked Severus Snape as a teacher, but he would never have wished him dead.

With patience, he began edging her away from the atrium area, and into a private room. She went willingly; a small child being led by an adult.

The healer ensured that the privacy ward came with them, continuing to shield the two, and he also cast a levitation charm on the corpse so that it floated behind Ginny, who still clutched the black folds of its robes like a tiny scared toddler.

“Mrs Potter?” the healer repeated once the door was closed and warded against intrusion.

Ginny swayed on the spot and would have fallen had not strong arms grabbed her and led her to the bed. She lay down unwillingly, head spinning, but still wanting to do something to make what had happened go away.

Over the course of the next ten minutes, the healer coaxed out of her what had happened. He wanted to put the body into the morgue, but Ginny’s reaction when he had suggested it had worried him.

“No! You can’t put him there! How’s he going to feel, knowing we gave up on him? And, we have to wait for Harry. He’ll be fine. Just give him a few minutes. He’s always fine. Always!” Her voice had cracked, and she had whispered the final word, tear-filled eyes starring at the blurry black shape still hovering in the air.


The healer, Danwick, had insisted she lie down and had tried to give her a mild calming potion, but she had reacted wildly.



“No! No potions. I’m fine.”

One hand went over her stomach and Danwick remembered the tale of what had happened to her when her son had been born. He supposed a fear of potions was only to be expected.

He left the room after ensuring she was all right to fill in the necessary paperwork. A place had to be arranged in the morgue, regardless of what Ginny Potter wanted, as the dead body needed storing until the Aurors had completed their investigation. After all, Danwick had been a healer long enough to know that after what had happened, if Ginny was to be believed, an investigation would have to take place.

Alone in the room, Ginny gazed at the floating figure. Resolutely she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and swung her legs off the bed. They trembled so badly she had to grab at the side of the bed for support before she trusted them to hold her weight. She stepped gingerly across the room, feeling apprehension growing as she neared the body.

All alone, with no one to see or rely on her, no one to expect certain things from her, she could at last speak to Severus.

“Severus?” she began croakily, throat aching with suppressed tears, “We, Harry and I, and James,we need you. Please, you don’t deserve to die like this. Not now life was just getting so good for all of us. And, I’m having another baby, and I wanted you there to help me. What if something bad happens again? We’d need you.” She slid her slender hand into the slack one, and squeezed the pale flesh. “Please, Severus, I’ve never thanked you for all the wonderful things you’ve done. Every day you made me feel special. I saw myself how you see me and that was so wonderful. You never expected things of me because I was Harry’s wife, or a Quidditch reporter, I was always just Ginevra to you. And I want that. I can’t go through my life without that! And our child, it’ll never know you! Never see how great you are. Severus, please, please, you have to wake up.”

She freed her hand and shook him desperately. He glided across the room, bumping into a wall.

Ginny gulped. Somehow that action, that awful indignity, made her realise that Severus was not coming back. He couldn’t. He was gone.

And she and Harry and James and the new baby would just have to find ways to cope.


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Before Fairncombe could recover from the spell he'd cast, Lucius quickly turned the man around, grabbed a pinch of floo powder, hissed a destination, and shoved the man into the fireplace.


Standing back, he poured himself another drink, and stood there sipping and gazing into the fire, feeling well pleased with himself. Everything had gone according to plan. His real plan, and nobody, least of all Fairncombe, would ever be the wiser.


As Lucius stood there smirking and congratulating himself, his reverie was interrrupted by a squeaky, hesitant voice near knee level. He glanced down in annoyance at the house elf cowering by his side, not appreciating the interruption to his good evening.


"What is it?" he snapped.


"F-from the Mistress, M-master," the elf stammered, its trembling hand offering up a folded piece of parchment.


Lucius sighed and snatched the missive from the elf, pointedly ignoring it after doing so. What the devil was Narcissa up to, he wondered, sending elves with notes, spoiling his happy tenor?


His annoyance disappated, however, when he opened the note and scanned its contents.


Darling-


All business and no play makes Lucius a very dull boy indeed.


Do send him on his way!


There are far more important matters that need attending to now........upstairs.....


Cissy



Lucius crumpled the parchment, threw back his drink, and turned toward the door.



A perfect day indeed, he thought, taking the stairs two at a time.


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Harry, who had shut his eyes in concentration, opened them and stared blankly at his hand.


"Accio, Resurrection Stone!" he said again, louder this time.


Still his hand remained empty.


He could feel hot tears stinging his already raw eyes, and gritted his teeth against them. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he shouted with all his might, "ACCIO, RESSURECTION STONE!!"


He stared in disbelief at his empty hand, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Hermione saying, "You can't control his fate! It's wrong to keep resurrecting him!"


"No!," he said angrily, dropping to his knees. He cast lumos for more light and began feeling over the ground, his wand held in his teeth as his hands scrabbled through the fallen leaves and dirt, tossing away the stones that weren't the one he was frantically searching for.


It has to be here! It has to be!!, his mind wailed, panicking. He felt the tears he couldn't hold back spill hotly down his cheeks, and fought off the urge to begin screaming in his anguish. He was certain this was the place, he knew it in his heart, why wasn't it here?!? Nobody knew he'd left the castle to come here that day, he'd been under his cloak. Nobody knew he'd brought the stone with him. Nobody knew he'd dropped it here. Nobody......nobody.........nobody except.......



Dumbledore!



Taking his wand in hand again, Harry muttered, "Nox!", and turning, set out for the castle.


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Howard Fairncombe stumbled out of the floo and blinked stupidly at his surroundings. "The Leaky Cauldron?" he muttered dazedly. He was aware of the patrons turning to look at him, the small gasps followed by silence as they gaped at him, and he scowled. Why were they staring at him?


He wasn't exactly sure how he'd ended up here. His mind felt fuzzy, and he couldn't remember coming here. Or anywhere for that matter. He considered that for a moment, trying to focus on the last thing he could clearly remember, and drawing a hazy blank. "Merlin!" he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He hadn't gotten this pissed in a long time! Still...as long as he was already here.....


Throwing another scowl at the people staring at him, he turned and headed to the bar, nodding at Tom the barkeep, and said, "Fire.....no, better make that a butterbeer."


Tom, who was looking at him strangely, cleared his throat and said, "R-right away....just .....more.....in back..." and hurried off.


Fairncombe watched him go, shaking his head and wondering what that was all about. Had he caused a ruckus? Done something stupid? Was he that drunk? He didn't feel drunk......well......not really. A little confused maybe. A little wooly, but......well, just one more for his parched throat and he'd be on his way.


Tom returned, a wary look on his face, and set a bottle of butterbeer in front of him. Fairncombe eyed him questioningly as he raised his bottle, and the man shrank back, then quickly grabbed a rag and hurried off to wipe tables, leaving him to enjoy his drink in peace. "Git," he muttered to himself, taking a long swig.


He sat drinking and trying in vain to recall the events of the day, when he caught sight of his clothing. He was trying to remember where exactly he'd aquired the robes he was wearing when his attention was diverted by a sharp poke to his back, and a deep, booming voice behind him growling, "Do not move. You're under arrest, Death Eater, for the murder of Severus Snape."


*******************************


"Harry!," Minerva McGonagall exclaimed as she rushed toward him from the Entrance Hall steps. "Harry, we're all so sorry to hear......."


Harry noted the red-rimmed eyes behind the spectacles and the handkerchief the Headmistress clutched in her hand, but couldn't bear to hear her speak the words. He cut her off tersely, stating, "I need to speak to Dumbledore, Professor."


Minerva could clearly see that Harry's grief and need was greater than her own, and said simply, "Of course, Harry. The password is shillelagh.


Harry nodded curtly and focused on his destination, running though the corridors, ignoring the memories that tried invading his consciousness, and trying to keep a grip in his anger and grief.


Once he'd spat the password and the gargoyle moved aside, he could no longer help himself, racing up the staircase and bursting into the Head's office shouting, "Dumbledore! Dumbledore! Where is it?! I know you.......!"


His words were cut off sharply as all the breath left his body and he struggled against the shocking coldness that rushed through him. He fell to his knees, his limbs shaking madly, fiery tears gushing from his eyes. He drew a jagged breath and then exhaled it immediately, screaming out the anguish and disbelief he could no longer deny.


"No! No! NO!," Harry screeched, fists pounding his knees. His heart was shattering, he felt his mind wasn't far behind, and he refused to believe that this was happening. Don't look! Don't look and it won't be true! his mind told him stubbornly. His grief and anger propelled him to his feet again, and he flew to the desk, pounding his fists there too, screaming up at the portrait of the old man above him.


"Where is it?! Where is it?! You took it, I know you did!" he screeched, accusing. "This isn't right! It isn't fair! Tell me, Dumbledore! Tell me where the Resurrection Stone is!!" he demanded.


"Harry," the former Headmaster said, his voice soft and full of sorrow, "I am sorry, my boy...."


"You're not!" Harry shouted, keeping his eyes on the painted face of Albus Dumbledore. "You're not! This can't happen, not now, and you can help! Where is it?! Tell me where the Resurrection Stone is!! I can save him! You said so yourself! I am the true master of death! You said so at King's Cross!"


It's wrong to keep resurrecting him! You can't control his fate! The words echoed through the back of his mind, but Harry squashed them down mercilessly.


He gulped down his tears and heartache, steeling himself in the face of the painted look of pity above him. "Tell me where the Resurrection Stone is, Professor. You were afraid to use it. I'm not."


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