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The wand tucked away in his back pocket has been bothering him for weeks now. Every time he put it down or tossed it away, without fail he would find it on his person not even five minutes later. Not to mention the cloak.
The accursed thing kept tripping him. He'd be walking down the halls, helping with repairs and all of a sudden the fabric would be tangled around his legs and he'd be launched towards the ground. Then the stupid wand would catch him and then buzz as if saying “aren't i such a good wand? Don't you want to use me?”
It was annoying.
When he had first read the “Tale of Three Brothers” with Mione and Ron, he thought about how brilliant it would be to own the hallows. The idea that he doesn't have to die, that those around him don't have to die. Perfect.
That was such a lie. Two out of three of those objects are more annoying than a clingy girlfriend. If they kept inserting themselves into his everyday life, it would drive him mad. He had to figure out a way to live like a normal– well as normal as it got considered he was a war hero and came back to life after dying– wizard. Simple, yeah?
No. Not Simple.
He had exactly one day in which the wand and the cloak did not bother him. They were working on the wards in the forest that day, and he had been supremely grateful to not be tripped up every five minutes. He had enough of that with the roots growing every which way. He had thought that maybe the two objects had finally taken the hint. He had no interest in them, and would very much like to be left alone. And then the dreams started.
Every night he dreamt of the forest. He thought it was cruel, to make himself relive his death day over and over. He summons his parents, he drops the stone, he walks away. On repeat. He isn’t sure how but he was certain that it was the fault of the hallows. They seemed to be invading every other part of his life, so it would make sense for them to be in his dreams as well.
He's not sure what they want from him, why they keep showing this scene over and over. It wasn't even truly his death, it was those flashes of himself with the stone, holding it, using it, feeling the power that comes with it. He will not go seek the stone. He won’t.
~
The stone felt heavy in his hand. He hadn’t been thinking much when he dropped it the first time; nothing more than how he needed to die. It was later, several days later, when he thought that it was probably a good thing that he left it behind. An object that allows him to talk to those who have died? He’d never move on from anything. He'd constantly be stuck in the past and trying to hold onto people he’d never be able to have again.
The stone was, by far, the worst of the hallows. Its power was addictive and alluring. Its power was a trap, something meant to ensnare those with a lesser constitution and lead them to a premature death in an effort to appease the god himself.
Fortunately, Harry wasn’t a fool. He also seemed to be the so-called master of those objects– a sassy wand, an arsehole cloak, and now a seductive stone. Quite the assortment he's got, really. He doesn't quite understand why he of all people was the one picked to be the master of these objects, but he does understand that they crave to be used. It's what they were created for.
Just once. He’d use the stone once, that was it. Surely he's earned that?
He stared at the stone in his hand for just a moment longer before he turned it over three times.
~
His shoulders draw up to his ears and he closes his fist around the stone. There had been no flashes or bangs or noise of any kind. But he knew that they were there. It was as if he was connected to them. He knew how many people had appeared, where exactly they were. He knew where they were looking and could almost feel an echo of their feelings as they waited for him to look up.
“Harry..” He shakes his head quickly, unable to open his mouth for fear of anything but words coming out.
“Come on, Prongslet, we came all the way here to see ya.”
“Shut up, Sirius.”
He finally looks up, glancing first at his mother, then Sirius, then Remus, a hand coming up to wipe at his eyes.
“I didn’t think that would work, if I’m being honest,” his eyes lingered on Sirius, soaking him in. He looked better than he did that night in the ministry. He looked happier, for one. There was a light in his eyes that Harry had only seen a few times since they met. And there was an ease in which he stood now, his arms hung loosely at his side, not fidgeting or constantly moving. He seemed to be drawn towards Remus. They stood next to each other and each time Remus shifted even a bit Sirius would move with him. He had always wondered if there was something… more between them. Though he had forgotten to worry about that considering all that had been happening at any given point.
“You are the master of the stone, as well as the wand and cloak. As has been your fate since long before my grandfather came into possession of the cloak.” he turns his gaze from his godfather to his father and tilts his head a bit to the side. His mouth opens to ask a question before something behind his father catches his eye.
“Dad..?”
James tilts his head and steps forward, “yes?”
“Oh, isn’t this divine?” Severus stepped around James and spared him half a glance, “He didn’t mean you, Potter.”
Harry would feel bad, if he had the ability to feel anything other than this overwhelming grief. The way it felt as if something took a hold of his chest and squeezed, knocked the breath out of him.
The last year had been trying in more ways than one. There had been a plethora of things that should have worn on him. The lack of shelter, lack of food. The cold. The constant fear that he would be caught and killed at any time. The utter hopelessness that he would be able to complete the mission that Dumbledore had laid out for him.
But by far the worst had been the all encompassing feeling of betrayal he had within him 24/7. He hadn’t wanted to believe that Severus killed the headmaster. He didn’t at first, he had insisted to Ron and Hermione that something must be up, that there must be more information than they were privy to. But the longer he went with no communication and the more news he heard coming from Hogwarts, the harder it was to tell himself that Severus was still good.
He couldn’t understand how that man, the man who he went through so much with. The man who had been the first adult to ever lower themself to Harry's level and really see him. Who helped him when he was at his lowest point, held him when he couldn’t imagine living to the next day. He didn't understand how he could have betrayed him so totally. So unforgivably.
And then by the time that he knew the truth, knew that he had not betrayed him, knew that he had loved him until the end, it was… well the end. Severus had bled out in his arms, and then he had a war to win.
He hadn't gotten to say sorry for not believing in him, hadn't gotten a last goodbye or hug or kiss on the head. He had nothing but his blood on his hands and a mission weighing over him.
The rest of his family was silent as Harry sobbed, his legs giving out from under him and forcing his knees to meet the forest floor roughly.
“Lamb…” his sobs renewed in intensity at the nickname and he felt the ghost of a hand in his hair, “it's okay.”
“How can anything be okay? You're dead, I couldn't save you, any of you, I failed!”
“I knew I was going to die, Harry. This isn't your fault, you had your mission and I had mine. We both succeeded. You won, you lived,” when Harry next looks up, Severus is kneeling in front of him, “You won.”
“It means nothing to me, winning the war doesn’t matter because I still feel like I lost. I did lose! I lost you, you promised me! Promised I’d always have you if no one else, and now you're telling me that you knew you'd die? What kind of fucked up..” he trails off, hiccuping and rubbing roughly at his eyes.
“You do have me, even after death you have me Harry. You are the master of the stone and I am only a summons away, all of us, only a few turns away.” He sees Severus gestures to his parents and godparents and he realizes they all had stayed quiet during their moment.
“Dad.” He looks back to James and is afraid that he will find disappointment or scorn in his eyes but sees nothing but that shining love that has always been turned on him.
“It’s okay Bambi, we’ve been watching. We know.” His tears renew and he buries his face back in his hands.
He’d been terrified that his father would have a problem with him and Severus, had wondered if their relationship would drive a wedge between his parents and himself but he had too selfishly wanted Severus in his life. Hadn’t cared enough to stop, not when for the first time he was the priority.
“He struggled at first,” his mother was behind him now, kneeling just the same as Severus and putting her ghostly hand around his shoulders, “but I knew that he would be good for you. I knew there was no one else on this planet who would love and care for you as much as Severus could.” He wants to be able to lean back into her, wants to feel her arms properly around him. He wants them alive, he wants so deeply it feels as if it'll start pouring out of him and into the earth.
“And now? He’s okay now?”
“Of course I am, how could i not when i saw how much he cared for you? How happy he made you?” His father was there now, not kneeling but just as close as the other two. “I didn’t like Snape, for selfish childish reasons, but the moment I saw him with you…well how could I continue to hate him?”
Severus had stayed quiet through their words and if Harry didn't know any better he would say the man looked embarrassed (he was embarrassed, Harry could tell by the pinch in his eyebrows).
“They have made their opinions on our relationships abundantly clear.” Oh my god was Severus blushing?
“Oh hush, he doesn’t need to hear about that.” His father was quick to speak up and Harry decided that questions could wait until next time. Because there would be a next time. If he was the master of these items he would damn well use them.
“That…situation notwithstanding... are you guys really okay with this?” He gets a chorus of yes in response and a grumble from Sirius which is cut off by Remus' elbow in his stomach. “And you’ll come? If I call you again will you show up?” He could feel his magic draining, holding this many souls on this side of the veil was incredibly difficult.
“Of course, Harry, always.”
He just nods, feeling the wand vibrating in his pocket and the stone growing warm. The meeting hadn't done what he wanted it to, but he knew there would be more meetings in the future, more time for answers and knowing them.
More time with Severus.
The stone falls to the forest floor once more and he is again, alone.