Harry's Goodbye

Harry Potter was dead. The shock of the situation hit everyone hard. Everyone had seen the accident. One minute he had been talking to his son, and the next minute he had stopped breathing, despite the efforts of everyone around.

It was a year since Albus Dumbledore had died finally from the cursed ring. Everyone, Ministry employee, Order member, and Death Eater, were aware of the old man's manipulations on a few select people. He had been a sweet grandfatherly figure to the masses in truth, but the fact that he tried to make the leaders of various factions through different means was really wrong and the judgment of treason to the people (known as playing chess with your people for fun or experimentation purposes) was seen as well deserved. The penalty was that the poison in his hand would no longer be stopped, but would be allowed to eat away at his body until he died.

Those in the know were glad he was not there yelling that Tom was finally showing his true colours.

Charles had been talking when his father wanted to speak with him. Harry Potter had touched his shoulder, but for some reason, Charles had panicked and his magic had sent a bolt right through Harry, damaging his lungs and stopping his heart. Charles had whirled around and caught him, screaming for a healer once the shock left him.

Healers from all groups had rushed to Harry Potter. Once there, Charles was pulled away from his father, and he sat numb, and curled around himself, while they tried to resuscitate his father. They had restarted his heart a couple times, but the damage to his lungs had made it a non-process. They allowed Charles back after declaring Harry Potter dead.

Charles was just sitting there, holding Harry Potter's hand. That hand had written so many letters over the last three years and a half. They had been scolding and corrective at times, reminiscent at other times, telling fables with a moral or just for fun. His tears started to fall. That hand was a representative of everything his father was. His tears fell faster as he put his head in his arms.

Dear father,

I miss you so much.

You are the one person that has been a steady guide for me throughout my life, and the fact that it had to be in the last two years is sad, but I am so thankful to have gotten to know you and everything that comes with it. You seem to have been cursed with fighting for your life from a young age, and it is ironic that your death was after your victory in making peace happen again in the wizarding world. Your life in the time I've known you was hardly known as dull. I wish you could have experienced childhood in a minor degree as I have now.

You tried to provide for me. You had sent items, and a sense of duty that grew into compassion that I saw grew into parental joy over their child. You even sent recipes to the house elves so that I could taste what you would cook for me if you could. You tried to make me sane so that when things happened, I would be doing them fully knowing all sides of what I was doing, and I could actually have a goal besides destroy everything. You even had my appearance fixed. It worked. I wish you could see what I can do now.

You have set me up to be the head of the British Wizarding World, and only when I qualified again as a leader, not a tyrant.

I love you, dad.

I miss you. I will try to do you proud.

"Charles" Galahaut Charles Ignotus Potter

The letter composed in his mind, he got up to look for a piece of parchment and a quill. As he stood up though, he squeezed the hand he was holding. About to put it down, he was surprised by the hand squeezing back.

Deciding once more that being by his father was the smartest, he yelled for Pomphrey and Snape, in case he was imagining things. Holding the hand, rubbing it, and feeling more movement, he waited for the two to arrive.

"Please," he said when they showed up, "please check to see if he is alive one more time. I thought I felt him squeeze back just now."

The two looked at him sadly.

"My lord, I hope you know that he hasn't a shot in the dark for being alive."

"I am aware."

This time he put the hand back down and sat beside his father's body as they performed their spells. A look of shock on both their faces made him grin.

"He's alive?" the man asked his healers.

A nod from Snape and a hand over the mouth of Pomphrey who startled backwards, then muttered a quiet "yes, yes, yes" were his answers.

It was Snape and Pomphrey who watched over Harry Potter. It was those two worthies who joined forces once again with his reawakening body to get him in working condition. They fitted him to a muggle ventilator which allowed his damaged lungs to breath as much as possible while they found a solution. The damage to the heart and ribs were easily fixed after his ribs were broken trying to restart his heart earlier. Those two had put him in as reserved a spot as possible in the hospital wing.

Harry's family were happy he was alive, though stressed about his present health. Charles stayed from morning until evening daily at Harry's side. The Weasleys didn't come everyday, but they came regularly on the weekends in the afternoon bringing home cooked biscuits and things Mrs. Weasley felt Harry's adopted son would be needing right now. Hermione even surprised the man by a quick hug when meeting him last time. The Malfoys were as constant as the Weasleys, though they brought more stuff to read. The three former Black sisters all took a hand in decorating the area around him, which was both amazing and concerning with Bellatrix involved. Harry's year mates all took a turn standing guard in pairs when Madam Pomphrey and Tom (finally) had gone to bed. Though they were caught a few times, no one ordered them to leave, but deducted points and gave detentions two days after they took duty. The fact that aurors were standing guard by his bed made no difference to his classmates.

Eventually, the various healers and potion masters made something that would fix Harry's lungs, as the typical actions weren't working. A muggle puffer was the basic part of the idea. Instead of a drug that would be absorbed into the blood stream from the lungs, the magical potion that would be administered would be in gaseous form in his air supply. They suspected that after three to seven sessions of breathing it in, it would put his lungs together.

It worked. It was one of the times that Harry would be happy of a little attention, but the newspapers once again overdid things. Harry allowed the medicine to be named Harry's Lungs, and felt happy that at least the people who worked on the project were getting praised as much as he was for coming back from the dead.

Weeks later, Harry received permission to leave the hospital wing again.

Harry just grinned, enjoyed little things, and waved his knobbly wand that Draco said looked tacky. A black stone was the pendant he had hanging in his shirt. Harry's father's cloak was in his pocket shrunk. He was the master of death.

His son took his hand. "Hello, father. How are you doing?"

The conversation lasted hours.

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Harry knew some things. He knew that he was immortal, and eventually, Harry would leave the land of the living as a dwelling place, though he would visit. He also knew within his robes was a general goodbye letter to friends and family, copies which were with the papers and Ministry, giving some long needed advice, as well as individual messages and a will.

Dear Family and Friends,

I leave this letter to you for now.

I want you to know that a certain prophecy has been fulfilled. The line says "neither can live while the other survives". I am technically dead. Charles, formerly Tom, is alive. Charles's horcrux has survived in me, as I am the Master of Death and immortal. There was a reason no one could kill me permanently. As a result, we both are. Have fun trying to kill the dark lord that was created through the actions of a sociopath, an insane woman, and a psychopath trying to survive, when death has to die before he can.

Charles and I have been through so much because of prejudice in the wizarding world. We both have instigated or perpetuated the stigmas fed us while we were younger and malleable. It almost ruined the world.

Think before you act. Be patient with those you are for and against, and with deciding where a person will fall into either group. Be honest, but not brutish. Be discerning, but not a thief.

Live, my son. Spread life, not death, for we are now as the Greek goddesses Persephone and her mother Demeter. We will dance this cycle immortal. I will visit you shortly, at least in our perspective.

Sincerely,

Harry James Potter