The After Life

The New Dawn

Harry sat pensively in the Headmistress' office. It lacked the warmth and curiosity which permeated the place when Dumbledore was resident. It was more formal, ordered. Even the portraits were well behaved. None of the whispering and dissent often tolerated by Dumbledore would be permitted here these days. One stern look from McGonagall was enough to quieten even the most persistent former Headteacher. Even Dumbledore himself, whose picture was the largest of them all, sat in quiet observation of the events unfolding in the room below.

For this was new magic and everyone was keen to see it work.

Harry was twirling his wand like a baton, examining every inch. He considered now how he had come to see it as an extra limb. Part of him, an extension of his very being. He recalled that initial burst of warmth he felt when he first took hold of the smooth holly, the phoenix-feather core igniting the magic in his fingertips. That was when it all began. That perfect resonance of his internal power and the implement with which he would harness and wield it. A magical tool which had chosen him.

And now he was about to destroy it, bring an end to it all.

Harry remembered the whirl of panic he felt all those months ago, when it was accidentally broken during the escape from Godric's Hollow. He had been furious with Hermione a moment, he couldn't help it. She was too good and powerful to have allowed that to happen, to leave him so castrated and vulnerable. But when his anger, his Voldemort-fuelled rage subsided, he forgave her in a second. She had saved his life, again, and his damaged wand was a small price to pay.

To return the favour now seemed somehow fitting. And the price was still insignificant, if it meant bringing Hermione back.

But there was still a sense of remorse. That was natural. Harry knew he was about to curtail a large part of his nature. It was life changing. Things wouldn't be the same after this, and not just in terms of Harry's neutered magical ability. He wasn't insensible of the grand gesture he was making. He hoped that, when she finally woke up, Hermione would realise it too. If that didn't make his intentions clear, where she was concerned, he wasn't sure what would.

He wasn't losing his magic entirely, of course. It was an integral part of him, not something that could simply be turned on and off like a tap. Where it came from, Harry hardly knew. Some said it was in the blood, others a higher brain function that Muggles were unable to access. Another school of thought suggested it came from the very spirit of a person itself, or was present in all living things. Hermione had somehow been cut off from her source of magic, and the severance was killing her. It was as if her lungs had stopped absorbing oxygen.

Harry wasn't putting himself in that sort of risk, as far as he could guess. He was giving up his ability to control magic, or at least the level of control he was used to. He would be able to do some things still, but general spell casting would be a thing of the past. McGonagall had explained that quite explicitly.

"You will be able to brew potions, fly a broomstick and Apparate," she'd said. "But anything requiring a wand will be lost. No wizard has ever gained full mastery of wandless magic, or anywhere even close. It simply isn't possible. Without a wand, you will be limited in your magical applications."

"An' don' forget, they break wands as a punishment," added Hagrid, who was laying out the ritual components he had gathered on McGonagall's desk. Harry smiled as he remembered Hagrid's old pink umbrella, which he deeply suspected contained the fragments of his own snapped wand. Harry wondered if he still had it. "No wizard, no matter how powerful, can do much without a wand."

"No, not even Grindlewald," said Harry, recalling a vision. "When Dumbledore beat him and took the Elder Wand, they simply locked him up and he couldn't escape. And he was really powerful, wasn't he? But once his wand was gone he wasn't a threat anymore."