Authoress's Note: This idea hit me this morning so I figured I should get it typed up before I left for school. You could also consider this another apology for going on hiatus with Millennial Star. Warning, I meant for it to be more comedy, but it turned out a little more melancholy than I had meant it to be. Please R&R.
His Last Goodbye
Harry Potter proudly walked down the halls of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. In his arms, he carried a beautiful bouquet of lilies—they were Sev's favorites—and a container of nightshade, with a protective covering of course—those were Tom's favorites.
A passing nurse paused and stopped him in the corridor.
"Where would you be off to, Mr. Potter?" she asked, her voice almost reverent.
"Room 308 as usual," Harry replied, indicating the floor above them. "And don't act so incredibly civil around me. I'm no king or lord or anything. Just Harry."
The nurse blushed and curtsied to him. "My apologies, Mr. Potter. Please, take the southern elevator. It has been repaired and is in use now."
"Thank you," Harry said, flashing her a charming smile and lightly bowing toward her. Without a second glance, he resumed his walk down the corridor, now heading for the southern elevator as suggested.
The silver elevator doors opened with a clink to allow a small family of four to exit. Harry nodded in their direction politely and they returned it with small smiles. He entered the empty elevator and watched the doors slipped closed, obscuring the view of families and nurses beyond. An unfamiliar tune seemed to emanate from the top of the elevator box and the black-haired man wondered if Mr. Weasley had influenced that addition.
One of his contacts began to irritate an emerald green eye and he blinked rapidly to rid himself of the discomfort as the elevator came to a stop on the next floor up. He nodded to a man in brown robes on his way out and traced his steps down the red-carpeted hall, his eyes searching for the golden numbers 308. A smile lit his lips when he found it and, because he couldn't open it with his arms full, asked another nurse to assist him.
Harry nodded his thanks to the woman and entered the occupied room—there were only two beds inside, but the black-haired man didn't mind since both of them were the reason for his visit.
"Harry darling, is that you?"
"Hello, Tom," Harry said, emerald eyes dancing. "I brought you and Sev gifts."
"Gifts? Harry dear, you shouldn't have," Sev said from the right bed as the black-haired man placed the nightshade on the bedside table next to Tom.
"But I wanted to, Sev," Harry said and handed the bouquet of lilies to him. "I knew you would love to see them."
The black-haired bedridden man smiled and hugged the bouquet to his chest while Tom inhaled the aroma from the nightshade. Harry smiled sadly at them as they thanked him repeatedly for the gifts.
"It was nothing," he said, remembering a time nearly five years previous.
"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort shouted, his wand pointed at a seventeen-year-old Harry. The teen dodged the green curse and shot a red Stupefy from the end of his black wand. The dark wizard growled and screamed in frustration.
"Die, boy, die!" he shouted. "Crucio!" Harry tightly shut his eyes and prepared himself for the inevitable pain but found it didn't come. Instead, he heard a blood-curdling scream and opened his eyes to see Snape taking the blow for him.
"No!" Harry cried as the Potions Master collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony and screaming bloody murder. Again, Voldemort growled in frustration.
"You're already supposed to be dead! You fool!"
Harry's eyes narrowed and he pointed his wand at Voldemort, anger rising within him to immense proportions. He gathered together all the hate and anger for what Voldemort had done to everyone in Harry's life as well as countless other and fueled it into his spell.
The curse slammed into the dark wizard and his own curse suddenly stopped, leaving Snape gasping for breath on the ground. Voldemort's screams took the place of Snape's and echoed through the air.
The anger burned out and Harry's curse stopped. He fell to his knees beside both gasping men as tears flowed from his emerald green eyes and down his cheeks. Snape mumbled incoherently while Voldemort stared straight ahead with wide blood-red eyes.
"Harry darling," the dark wizard said, catching Harry off-guard, "do you see the pretty ponies?"
Harry—now back in the present and away from the sad memory—sighed in mourning but smiled anyway, just barely realizing he had sat down sometime while reminiscing.
"Yes Tom, I see the pretty ponies," he said, addressing the man who used to be known as Voldemort. Those same blood-red eyes stared at him before a wide grin slid onto his lips.
"I knew you would eventually, Harry darling," the man replied, lovingly stroking the nightshade—he had removed it from its protective covering and it now sat in his lap.
"I love lilies, you know," Sev said, his eyes dreamy and in a far-off place. "Especially ones with red hair."
Again, Harry smiled sadly, understanding all too well what the former Potions Master meant.
"I know, Sev, I know," he said instead, reaching over to take one of his cold clammy hands. Tom giggled in delight and gripped Harry's other hand.
"When will we get to go home with you, Harry dear?" Sev asked. Harry disguised his sorrow as best he could—he couldn't bear to tell them the truth—as he replied.
"Soon, Sev, soon."
Two Weeks Later
Harry kneeled beside the two graves and cried. His tears flowed freely and without command, doing as they pleased. Everyone was gone now. His childhood friends had all died in the second war, his parents had passed in the first, and now his only friends left—Sev and Tom—were dead. The curses they had been under had finally caught up with them and all that Harry had left was a waving photograph of the three of them in the hospital shortly before their deaths.
"Goodbye, my friends," he whispered. "Goodbye."