Harry Potter and the Ancient Secret of War

A/N: I am updating this chapter. I have already written Chapter 11 but I need a beta before I post. Please contact me if anyone is interested. My email is sauronofmordor@yahoo.co.uk

Chapter Ten

Revelations And Heartbeats

Harry left Harry and Hermione in the Great Hall as they headed for lunch. Of course, he could pretty much do nothing except for breaking down and starting to scream. Yet, he surprising did nothing of that sort. His legs automatically carried him through the innumerable passages and corridors inside Hogwarts castle. There was an evident mechanical edge to his gait, which was indeed understandable since his mind was now reduced to a swirl of confused and despairing thoughts that he had no control over.

Suddenly, he found himself in front of a door, as if awaiting the thing that was on the other side. He thrust his hand forward without any force in his will and opened the door. He registered no surprise in his brain when he saw that the room was possibly the kind of setting where he could find comfort and solace in his suffering.

The room was bare except for a few bits of furniture here and there. It looked vaguely familiar, rather like the Gryffindor common room, yet very much unlike it. There was a small fireplace. The fire was lit and it cast a soft glow around the room. There were no windows, all in all it looked like the night was here - a perfect setting for introspection, reminiscing and grieving.

Harry went up to the cosy armchair that stood in front of the fire. His mind was numb. No remnant of any kind of reaction could be seen on his face. There was only a gaunt, hollow look on his face that bore the scars of his current mental state.

Memories flashed randomly across his mind, some memories he did not even know had existed. His days at the Dursleys…Dudley's gang chasing him at school…Aunt Marge letting Ripper lose after him...Hagrid taking him to Diagon Alley for the first time…the incident with the troll at Halloween during first year…the journey to the Chamber of Secrets…his first meeting with Sirius…the loss of his old Nimbus 2000…his name appearing from the Goblet of Fire…going past the Hungarian Horntail…Cedric's death…watching Voldemort regain his form…his dreams of the Department of Mysteries…the previous summer he spent at the Dursleys' home…Sirius' loss…the revelation of the prophecy…the attack on Hermione's parents…spending the summer with her…the huge conflict with Ron…all these memories and many more flashed through Harry's mind like a filmstrip as he relived his whole life in those moments, with the stress being more on the despair he had felt over the years. Very few good memories penetrated the worst ones while occasionally, a good memory would come and disappear like a wisp of cloud blown away by the wind.

After what seemed to Harry like agonisingly, long, painful moments, the benumbing feeling that had started growing inside of him began to subside and his thoughts gained more clarity. This was however, no help since they seemed out of his control and were all focussed on the worst moments of his life - almost as if they were intent on drowning him in an ocean of depression, grief and sadness.

Suddenly, Harry felt a presence in the room. He saw, before his very own eyes, a window appearing on the hitherto unclosed wall, looking all the way to the Ground level, situated seven levels down. Harry went up to the window and wondered how it would feel to take that one step which would free him from all his pains, all his burden. He decided to test himself further.

Harry climbed up to the wide and high window-sill. One step now separated him from being where he was, to being one with the air, hurtling down at unimaginable speeds. Harry imagined himself in the latter situation and smiled at himself. He felt no relief, no joy, nor any pain. It was as if the depressed thoughts would not grant justice even to his death.

“I am going to jump from up here,” Harry said aloud to himself, “I am going to die.” With that, he raised one foot and suspended it forward. All he needed now was a small gesture with his other foot, a shift in his body weight and it would all be over.

* * * * *

It was three in the morning, if you could call three a.m. morning. Albus Dumbledore was sitting his office behind his desk, talking to Professor Elijah Bickerstaff. The professor, on his return to Hogwarts after a long hiatus, seemed to have blended in with the atmosphere of the school as easily as a fish takes to water. He was currently talking with Dumbledore on the matter of starting a Defense club in the school.

Dumbledore was listening to Bickerstaff with an eager ear. He had long realised that one of the perks of being Albus Dumbledore, whether in his capacity as the Headmaster of Hogwarts or in his status as the leader of the Light, against Dark, was that one got little time to rest. As a result, he had long since tuned his body to rest even while in the state of waking.

“I mean all the other subject have their own clubs after school hours, all except Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Bickerstaff was saying, “I mean it will be the most sensible thing there is if we started this thing.”

“You forget,” Dumbledore said merrily, “There is no club for Divination.”

Bickerstaff rolled his eyes as Dumbledore said this and popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. “That subject is nothing but a load of guesswork and Trelawney is an old hag.” Bickerstaff said.

“Elijah,” Dumbledore said, “Make sure that the students don't hear your opinion of Sybil Trelawney. And you forget Firenze, although I don't think he'll approve of calling a Divination club, a club. And I need not remind you that Sybil Trelawney was the reason why we received a prior lead regarding Lord Voldemort's fall and sixteen years later, his return.”

“All right,” Bickerstaff said, “But I was talking about the Defense club. You cannot deny this. Hogwarts need a place where the students can learn some extra useful spells besides their regular schoolwork.”

“I agree,” Dumbledore replied, “But you have to let the students take an initiative in this. That's a prerogative for the commencement of all the school clubs.”

“Since when have you been a strict follower of rules, Dumbledore?” Bickerstaff asked, a wry smile on his face.

“Every time when following rules has been necessary,” Dumbledore replied, the twinkle ever present in his eyes during those moments.

“In any case, I think maybe you should wait until a student comes forward with an idea on similar lines,” Dumbledore finished. “I think someone will do that once they have lots more support than last year.”

“There was a club last year?” Bickerstaff asked.

“Yes, an illegal one,” Dumbledore replied, “I daresay you might have heard about it. Gave Dolores Umbridge quite a headache.”

“Yes, yes, come to think of it, now I remember,” Bickerstaff said, “I believe the Weasley twins told me all about it and other things that occurred here last year when I asked them why they left Hogwarts without appearing for the NEWTs. They called this, well; there was this interesting name…”

“Dumbledore Army,” Dumbledore replied, the amusement in his voice clearly evident. “It had quite a few repercussions on the management of the school.”

Bickerstaff nodded. He knew the story only too well, as did the rest of the Order. It had ballooned into a very serious matter, with Dumbledore having to leave the school and Hogwarts getting purged of practically all Order members for some time later that academic year.

“So, do you have any ideas as to who might be the one to take initiative in the club?” Dumbledore asked.

“No,” Bickerstaff replied, “But I daresay Mr Potter would be interested. I think he might be the one.”

“I wouldn't think so,” Dumbledore said, in return, “Harry's skills at organising, well, let's just say that he isn't the best one at organising things, certainly not when Miss Granger isn't around. It's more like he and Mr Weasley are more adept at breaking rules than abiding by them. Miss Granger, on the other hand, is the one who keeps a tab on them.”

Bickerstaff smiled, as if he were recalling some fair memories. He said, “Of course, I didn't think of that. Sort of, like father, like son, isn't it?”

There was a pause after this that signified a sense of familiarity sweeping the room.

“So,” Bickerstaff began, “Any news of You-Know-Who?”

“Yes and no,” Dumbledore replied, “There has been a mild increase in the attacks on Muggles but Lord Voldemort's plans for the wizarding world aren't yet in motion. I think at the immediate moment, he is just content at entertaining himself with torturing poor Muggles. In any way, he also needs the support of more Death Eaters, the ones who were captured in the Department of Mysteries last year not the least among them.”

“And the thing about the sign of the Raven?” Bickerstaff questioned.

“It hasn't appeared since the attack on the Granger house,” Dumbledore answered, “It has caused me to have some doubts in my mind, regarding the theory that I had for their appearance.”

“So, another day ends, and the uneasy calm remains,” Bickerstaff said dramatically, almost in a rhetorical fashion, as if he were announcing the fact to the entire room. The portraits of the ex-Headmasters and Headmistresses that graced the walls of the room were patiently and attentively listening to this conversation.

Dumbledore sighed. “It's only a matter of time now. Either way, we have little hope of fighting him and winning.”

“You seem to have forgotten Mr Potter's role in all this, Dumbledore,” Bickerstaff retorted, “and the prophecy as well.” He added the last bit after a brief pause.

“Don't you think, Elijah, that your faith and confidence in Harry runs into the risk of being over-confidence and complacency?” Dumbledore said. It was a plain statement made by the old Headmaster but it held within itself, the meaning that he had wanted to convey, nonetheless.

But Bickerstaff was not touched by this. “Dumbledore, don't you think that your faith in Mr Potter is floundering?” he responded.

“Faith is one thing, Elijah,” Dumbledore said, “but burdening Harry with the world full of expectations is another.”

There was long, pregnant pause after Dumbledore uttered the last sentence. Dumbledore recalled the happenings of earlier that night…

Flashback

“I am going to jump from up here,” Harry said aloud to himself, “I am going to die.” With that, he raised one foot and suspended it forward. All he needed now was a small gesture with his other foot, a shift in his body weight and it would all be over.

Harry stood in that position for a long while. His mind was a bizarre cloud of confounding resolves and he couldn't bring himself to either taking that final step or to retreat to safety. He curiously felt nothing, not even a remote feeling related to anything whatsoever. He wondered if this was indeed the moment when everything would end for him, then why was he devoid of any thought. Why was his mind completely numb? It was not supposed to be like this. He heard that a person often felt his own life, completely and quickly unfolding before one's own eyes, moments prior to one's death. But he felt nothing.

Was this how the rush of death was supposed to feel? Harry waited for the slightest sign as to what he should do, whether he should take the last step. But he received no sign, no indication as to what he should do. Finally, he sighed and withdrew his foot. He sat down on the window-sill, much like he had done on his first night at Hogwarts albeit that was in his own dormitory. He looked over the Hogwarts grounds and over the trees of the Forbidden Forest at the setting sun. Somehow, a sense of irony hit him. The setting sun was perhaps the epitome of his life. Every time he hoped for something to happen, every time hope swelled in his chest and rose to a high point much like the sun's journey before noon but then everything began sliding down till such time as no hope remained, much like the dusk that followed the sunset.

Suddenly, an all too familiar voice came from across the room, “I'm glad you decided to take that step back.” Harry groaned inwardly. The last thing he wanted now was a one-on-one session with Albus Dumbledore.

“I bet you had known it all along,” Harry said, trying to vent some of his pent-up frustration and anger on the ancient wizard, as he had done on a night not very long ago. “I bet you had always know that I would stand here and then slowly draw back, that you would then gloat over me about how I was sensible doing what I did. Isn't it why you have come?”

Dumbledore walked up to the window-sill and as he approached, a squashy blue arm-chair appeared out of nowhere and lodged itself facing the window-sill where Harry was perched. Dumbledore walked over slowly and took a seat. He studies Harry's features carefully. Yes, there was pain…pain that was so evident in those most expressive emerald eyes. Every angle of that face was lined with intense pain, worry and exhaustion.

Dumbledore finally said, “You don't really believe that, do you, Harry? Even the wisest person cannot predict what the future holds. And I certainly am not the wisest person around. The future holds many mysteries for us, Harry; and those mysteries are never disclosed to us till such time as we are ready to face them. That is what makes life so colourful. What you are talking about…it was your chose, and I believe you chose wisely.”

“Don't give me that load of dung!” Harry replied, the numbness in his brain being replaced by an inexplicable and sudden anger. “If the future could not be foreseen, then there would have been no seers. There wouldn't have been any prophecy. My fate wouldn't have been decided for me, without my own consent.”

Dumbledore looked at Harry with that monstrous feeling called pity in his eyes. Yes, he considered the greatest virtue, the greatest quality that made human beings human - pity - to be monstrous; because it was the epitome of everything weak in man. It tore his heart out to see the young man before him languishing in the depths of despair and sorrow. It became one of those rare moments when Albus Dumbledore, considered by most as the most powerful wizard alive, didn't know what to do. Here was Harry Potter, the only hope of the wizarding world in a losing battle against the dark, smothered under guilt, depression and wallowing in self-pity. So, he began chanting softly, almost in an inaudible voice:

Long ago the wizards came,

Aboard great ships blue and white,

They brought with them the magical fires,

They brought with them the magical light.

The five wizards then chose their dens,

And vowed to repel evil again and again.

They passed their powers to others,

To those worthy of calling them mine;

They then left the earth behind,

Having battled evil in their time,

Leaving behind their followers to do the same,

And their footprints on the sands of time.

And thus, the process gradually began,

Of fighting for the manhood of man;

And so, each time evil takes ground,

One man must come around,

And assume the reins of the quest,

To put evil to the test.

Once again the time approaches,

When the fight between good and evil poaches,

The minds and hearts of all,

And tears away the soul with a call.

At such time, a saviour will rise,

From amidst the ruins of war,

And assume the power into which he was born;

He shall fight the evil and.

Lead his people to a wonderful, new dawn.

“What was that?” Harry asked sullenly, his inquisitiveness getting the better of him.

“That was an ancient hymn, Harry,” Dumbledore replied, “so ancient in fact, that I do not think it is in anyone's memory at this current day. You will understand this some day and when you will, you will find yourself prepared for anything and everything. For now, I will confide in you that I had read it years ago in a book, a book that I believe is now in your possession.”

Harry at first did not understand what Dumbledore meant until he remembered the book that he had seen in a corner of Flourish and Blotts, and had subsequently purchased. “Been spying on me again, have you?” Harry asked, a strong hint of bitterness creeping into his voice.

“No, Harry,” Dumbledore replied, “I see that I need to clarify things here. You see, the book under consideration, it is a very important book. In simple words, you could just say that it contains the very essence of magic. Let me just say for the moment that you wouldn't have found that book, unless you were meant to find it. Due to the fact that it is a very powerful tool, that can do wrong things in wrong hands, I had asked Mr Greenwich, you know, he is the owner of Flourish and Blotts-”

“I know who Mr Greenwich is,” Harry interrupted impatiently, wanting to hear very eagerly the next part and at the same time, not wanting to be privy to this conversation either.

“Of course,” Dumbledore continued, “Anyway, I had asked Mr Greenwich to inform me about who bought the book. I had a sneaking suspicion that someday you would be the one. It seems that I was correct.”

“Why not,” Harry said, his voice dripping heavily with sarcasm and his anger of old returning to him. “The great Albus Dumbledore is never wrong. He knows everything. Even when he manipulates everyone's lives, he claims he is doing so for their own good. And everyone believes him. After all, doesn't the great Albus Dumbledore know everything?”

“Do you really think I manipulate people's lives?” Dumbledore asked, looking mildly interested.

“You manipulated mine; and Sirius' when he was still alive,” Harry added, after a pause. The thought of Sirius made his blood boil with the memory of another night at Hogwarts nearly two months ago. He couldn't just bear to look at that ancient face again, etched in pity and wisdom.

“I was trying to keep both of you alive,” Dumbledore said.

“You failed in Sirius' case, didn't you?” Harry retorted.

For a while, Dumbledore looked as if the words had pierced his heart. But then, he sighed, “Yes, I did. I failed in that.”

There was a moment of silence after which Dumbledore asked Harry, “Tell me Harry, are you angry?”

It was a simple question. “Yes,” Harry replied.

“Are you frightened?” Dumbledore asked again.

It was an even simpler question. “Yes,” came Harry's answer.

“Do you know the reason of your fear?”

The question was as simple as could be. “Yes,” Harry replied again, wondering in his heart where Dumbledore was getting to.

“Can you tell me then?” Dumbledore asked for the last time.

It was the simplest question he had asked. But suddenly, Harry found he had no answer. “I don't know,” he whispered, his voice barely audible yet it seemed to echo off the walls of the room.

Dumbledore did not say anything. He just waited for Harry to continue, which he did, “I feel I have lost myself. Ever since…ever since he died.” Harry couldn't bring himself to say Sirius' name; it was so painful. “Ever since he died, ever since I came to know about the prophecy, I don't know who I am. It's like I am in this big, black space alone and there is nothing that I can do to leave. There is nothing that I can do to defeat the evil that surrounds us.

“Those who know about the prophecy might expect me to do what they hope for. Indeed, they expect me to defeat Voldemort and traverse the path that the prophecy has laid before me, and I would, believe me I would…but…but it's just that I do not know the way…I do not know if I am strong enough.”

Dumbledore got up from his chair and walked over to where Harry was sitting. As he did that the armchair vanished by itself. He walked over and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, who did not seem to notice, however and continued, “I am not like you, Professor. Neither am I like my father, or my mother. All those times I faced Voldemort, I was fighting for my own survival but henceforth, it will always be different. I know that in my heart. That I will always carry the weight of our joined fates whenever I come face-to-face with him. I don't think I can handle that, Professor. I don't think I have enough strength in me to face the choice that has been laid before me.”

Dumbledore squeezed Harry's shoulder reassuringly. Harry looked up at him and gave him a grateful look.

Dumbledore said, “I have told you this before, Harry. The prophecy would not have been made regarding you if you didn't have strength enough. All you need to do, Harry, is to find where that strength lies. I shall not say that Lord Voldemort is not more powerful that you, nor shall I say that we hold the upper hand in this war. But what I will say is that I believe when the time comes, you will find yourself ready. And you will find beside yourself, such people who will be willing to do so by your side and sacrifice their lives for you, if need be. If you have any doubts regarding this, just remember the hymn I recited earlier.”

They remained there like that, both Headmaster and pupil, gazing out onto the Hogwarts grounds, watching the moon shining on the tree-tops of the Forbidden Forest. Harry wondered which creatures might be awake inside at that moment. He wondered what the centaurs might be doing, and what was going on with Aragog and his children, what the Thestrals were doing and what had happened to Hagrid's half-brother, Grawp. Finally, he felt as if a shadow was lifted from his heart and mind. He said, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Why so, Harry?” Dumbledore inquired. Harry wasn't quite sure if the old wizard was feigning surprise at his gratitude or not.

“For listening me out patiently, after all I've said to you over the past months,” Harry replied earnestly.

“Believe me Harry,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling merrily, “It was my pleasure.” After a short pause, he added, “So I take that you are feeling better already.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied.

“But you don't look so well, do you?” Dumbledore said, “I think after this ordeal, you need some rest. I prescribe for you some sleep in your dormitory. What do you think?”

Harry nodded. He stood up gingerly; it was as if he had forgotten to walk and was learning it all over again. He walked with Dumbledore across the room.

“So where are we?” Harry asked. “I didn't quite pay attention while coming.”

“I doubt you did,” Dumbledore chuckled. “This is the Room of Requirement. It seems you wanted to be lonely in such a place, where you could find solace and the room conjured up that image in your mind for real.”

Harry nodded again. Dumbledore opened the door and they stepped into the corridor outside. As soon as the Headmaster closed the door, it disappeared, leaving a solid stone wall behind. Dumbledore shook his head and chuckled, “This place never ceases to amaze me.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said as both of them stood there, waiting to part ways, “I daresay that Mr Weasley and Miss Granger would be worried sick waiting and searching for you. I would advise you to tell them everything. Sometimes, you may find that there are some secrets that may become your strength if you choose to divulge them. The only thing is which secret and to whom. That is an old man's advice to you.”

Harry nodded again, even though he only got the general meaning of the Headmaster's advice.

“Sir, one last question,” Harry said, “How did you know I was here, in the Room of Requirement?”

“Harry, you will learn some day that there are certain privileges attached with being the Headmaster of Hogwarts.” With that Dumbledore walked away, leaving behind Harry who was feeling that Dumbledore had just now told him a way of rephrasing the sentence, “You wouldn't want to know.”

End of flashback

“Dumbledore,” Bickerstaff's voice sounded around the room. “What is it?”

Dumbledore blinked his eyes as he forced his mind to put the memory on the backburner. “Nothing,” he said, “Just thinking about Harry…I still think he needs more time.”

“But there is no time, Dumbledore,” Bickerstaff replied, “War is upon us. There is no way we can give him time.”

“Believe me, Elijah,” Dumbledore said, “Something will happen that will give Harry the time to prepare. I have a very strong feeling about this. I am not talking about the time we need to give him to prepare. I am talking about the time we need to give him to cure his wounds, to close them completely. It is only when his mind and heart are cured that he will believe in himself and start preparing himself for the war. Till then, we will have to give him time, and some space. If we can't, we will have to buy him some time.”

“Your mind works in a fashion I will never fathom,” Bickerstaff said, “But I do have one question. Do you think it will be long?”

“No, I don't think so,” Dumbledore replied, “From what I saw today, I can see that the healing process has already begun. No, it won't be too long. I would make it two or three months, six at the most.”

“That's all I need to know then,” Bickerstaff said, and he got up. “I have to prepare for a lesson on Kappas for the third years tomorrow.”

“Fascinating,” Dumbledore said, a smile lighting his wrinkled features.

“Keep me updated, will you,” Bickerstaff said, as he reached the door, “You know, it's nice to be back at Hogwarts but one think that I do dislike here is you are the only source of information here.”

Dumbledore slightly tipped his head to one side, to indicate that he acknowledged. As Bickerstaff left, he took out a pocket-watch with twelve hands from his left pocket. He looked it over and decided there were fifteen minutes more remaining. So he waited, thinking of what he was going to say now.

* * * * *

Harry entered the Gryffindor common room looking so exhausted as if he had been crushed under a boulder. Hermione looked at him and then running across the length of the common room, she flung herself at Harry and hugged him fiercely, as if she would never let him go. Ron looked on patiently.

“Hermione, sorry to interrupt this,” Harry said weakly, feeling as if he would suffocate in Hermione's tight embrace, “But I really need to breathe.”

“Sorry,” Hermione said as she pulled away.

Ron, on the other hand, looked defiant. “You have some explaining to do, Harry,” he said.

Harry looked quizzically at Ron; at least he tried to put up the charade. He knew in his sinking heart that the moment of truth had come. He had to explain himself, or risk the very friendships he had come to treasure. He might have considered doing so some other time, when he would have found himself overcome by the feeling of noble sacrifice which could make his friends safe from the Dark Lord and his minions. But for the time being, he had adamant, angry friends to answer to.

“Don't give me that look,” Ron said, “You are going to tell us where you have been. You are going to tell us what's going on and you are going to do it now.”

“Ron's right, Harry,” Hermione seconded Ron's view, “We are worried sick about you. You must tell us what it happening and why all this is happening; why you are doing this. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you are shutting us out of your heart.”

Harry sighed inwardly. There was no way he could escape. His friends knew him too well for that. But he still made that last ditch attempt, “Honestly, it's nothing you two. Will you stop bugging me?”

“No,” Ron replied, adamantly.

“Harry,” Hermione said in a soothing voice, “Harry, please don't do this to yourself. Why are you bottling your feelings inside of you? Why do you want to do that, while we are here to listen to you?”

Now, Ron came up to Harry and said, “Harry, mate, all these years, we have been friends. Don't you trust us in this?”

Harry shook his head. He detached himself from Hermione and took a seat on the couch by the fireplace. Both Ron and Hermione took this as a cue and seated themselves - Hermione next to Harry and Ron on the opposite armchair. Harry stared at the fire, still burning merrily in the grate, much like it had once when he had talked to Sirius via the Floo network.

“It's not about trust,” he said finally, “It's just that…just that you…you two cannot do anything in this to help me.”

Ron looked slightly as if he had not got Harry. Hermione, on the other hand, asked him softly, “Harry, is this about Sirius?”

Harry sighed and said, “Yes and no. It is true that I miss Sirius terribly. In fact, not a day has gone by when I don't regret my foolishness in going to the Ministry that night. Ever since we returned to Hogwarts, I have been chiding myself even more. If only I had listened to you, Hermione! If only I had listened to you that evening! If only I had stopped and thought about all that sensibly for a while! But no, I had to play the hero. I had to go and find out whether everything was real or it was just a phoney vision.

“I spent all my summer alone thinking of things, yet trying not to think about them at the same time, not to feel the pain that threatened to rip my heart and mind into pieces. And then after your parents had been attacked, Hermione, it was like I was too pre-occupied to think about Sirius and I kind of like it. I know what I did was monstrous, what I felt was monstrous - something that only someone so evil as Voldemort would have felt. And I felt it. I was guilty of something so heinous.”

“No Harry,” Hermione broke in, “You did the perfectly logical thing. You felt what every human in the world would have felt had he been in your position. That doesn't make you a monster, Harry. It only proves that you are human and it makes you stronger than ever. You are not to blame for this, Harry, nor for Sirius' death. It wasn't your fault that Sirius died.”

“How many times do you think I have heard that sentence from Dumbledore?” Harry said. “You think such false words can make me feel better? Well, frankly, they don't. I am old enough to know that nothing else is going to change the truth.”

There was an uneasy silence that followed this, which Hermione broke, saying, “Harry, we could tell you repeatedly, both Ron and I, that none of this is your fault. We could continue telling you this all night, yet you would not believe us. But if there is a way, if only you knew somehow to look into our thoughts and read our minds, you will find that no one blames you for Sirius' death. It was not because of you that Sirius died; it was because of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.”

“Hermione is right, Harry,” Ron said, “It's not your fault. Sirius was a friend to all of us. All of us suffered when he died. But look at us; is any one of us blaming himself for Sirius' death? No! Because Sirius died after fighting a hero's battle.”

“You two don't understand,” Harry said quietly, “Everyone, I mean each and everyone I've ever been close to - my parents, Sirius - Voldemort killed them all. Even the attack on your parents, Hermione, and the other one on the Burrow, all those things happened because both of you are my friends and I love you for that. It's not only the war. It's the personal battle between Voldemort and I. Sirius got caught in that because I loved him, and so, he was killed. I don't want anyone else to meet the same fate. I don't want anyone else to die. I don't think I could take that.”

There was another long, pregnant pause after this. No sound was made by either of the three of them. The only noise was that of the fire crackling merrily in the grate. Harry felt the warmth of the fire, but he felt as if the warmth did not reach his insides. It did not penetrate his skin and remained confined to the exterior only.

“Tell me, Harry,” Hermione said quietly, “Is it only about Sirius, or is it about something else as well?”

Harry looked closely at Hermione, wondering if she had somehow managed to learn Leglimens. With Hermione, you could never tell. She wasn't called the smartest witch ever to come to Hogwarts for nothing.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked quickly, as he tried to remain nonplussed at the same time.

“I know you too well, Harry,” Hermione said gently, “This isn't only about Sirius' death, the way I see it. From what I have known about you over the years, it is something more.”

Ron watched this exchange between his friends with great interest. It was as if an unknown understanding had sprung up between his friends, an understanding and a comfort level that he could never hope to reach, or to penetrate. It was in that moment that Ron realised why Hermione and Harry should be together as opposed to the question `Why are Harry and Hermione together?' that had plagued his mind in the first place. Indeed, he realise now that Hermione knew more about Harry and Harry more about Hermione than he could ever hope to. If Ron didn't know any better, he'd have called it a `match made in the heavens'. But for some reason, the relationship between his friends appeared to him to be more sacred, more sanctified than he could ever have imagined anything else of being. It was as if he could see their auras around them, and those auras had mingled with each other.

Harry looked strangely at Hermione for a moment and then as if he had reached a decision at last, his face relaxed (although it didn't lose any of the pain that was reflected there. It seemed more like he had accepted the pain as a part of his own identity) Then he said, “You're right. There is something else. But I don't know how to tell you this. It will probably shock you more than anything else.”

Ron now felt that it was his duty to speak something. So he said, “Why don't you try, Harry? I am Sure both Hermione and I have enough time to listen to you.”

Harry nodded. “I just don't know where to begin.” He said.

“Try starting from the beginning,” Ron suggested, trying his best to be helpful. “Mum always says when in down, start right from the beginning.”

Harry complied. “Well, I guess, it starts off even before I was born, with Voldemort, trying to kill me,” Harry began, “The reason why he tried to kill me is because of a prophecy that was made before my birth.”

“Was it the one Neville lost and it broke in the Department of Mysteries?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Don't interrupt him,” Ron hissed to her.

Harry however continued (he realised once again that he had taken the first step to solving the problem at hand since he had begun speaking), “Yes, the same one. It was made by Trelawney and Dumbledore was the one to hear it. The prophecy at the Ministry was only a copy. Anyway, Dumbledore told me all about the prophecy the night when Sirius died.” As he said the last part, the pitch of Harry's voice dropped almost to the tone of a quiet whisper.

“What did it say?” Ron asked, in a breathless voice.

“Ron, I believe you told me not to interrupt,” Hermione said. It was now her turn to flare up.

Harry ignored this banter and said, “The prophecy…it said…The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have

power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives … the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies …'

(Courtesy: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix)

“What did that mean?” Ron asked.

“It meant that,” Harry began, “that I have to kill Voldemort or Voldemort has to kill me. That is the only way this war can end. Voldemort does know the whole prophecy; he knows only the first half of it and so he tried to kill me. In the process, he marked me as an equal and was reduced to a malicious spirit himself. Since regaining form, he has been trying to get to the prophecy in its fullest form.” With that, Harry told Ron and Hermione the complete story; he told them everything Dumbledore had told him on that fateful night many days ago.

When Harry had finished, Ron let out a low whistle and said absent-mindedly, “And I thought I was keeping the biggest secret from you by not telling you yet that I have been appointed the Gryffindor Quidditch captain.”

“What?” Both Harry and Hermione said in unison.

“Yeah,” Ron said, “I got the letter over the summer. I am sorry I kept it from both of you though.”

“It's okay, Ron,” Harry said, with a slight laugh, “If we have to start saying sorry for all we've kept from each other, I'd have to say it a number of times for not telling both of you about the prophecy; and Hermione would have to apologize many times over for hiding the Time-Turner during third year.”

This earned a good laugh from both Ron and Harry. Hermione, on the other hand, looked indignant. “Professor McGonagall told me to…” she began hotly, but Ron interrupted her.

“McGonagall might have told you,” Ron said, “But you still hid it, didn't you?” Hermione rolled her eyes at this remark.

“Anyway,” Harry said, seeing that an argument was about to flare up, and acting as a mediator, he continued, “I'm glad, it's nothing more, Ron. I wondered for a moment if you were about to say that you worked for Voldemort or something like that.”

“Oh, you might never know with me,” Ron said, a bit too earnestly so as to be true. “I might be doing that now and you wouldn't know…Of course, I'm not though. I was only joking.” He added hastily, seeing the wary looks on his friends' faces.

Harry was the first one to recover from hearing what Ron had just said. He gave a short laugh and said, “You gave me a scare, mate. To think that my best friend is a deadly monster!” Harry feigned a melodramatic expression of fear at this and Ron sniggered at his poor imitation.

“Anyways, mate,” Harry said sincerely, “Congratulations! I hope you put together the strongest Quidditch team Hogwarts has ever seen.”

“Thanks, mate,” Ron replied, “But for the time being, I don't think I am up to that task. My mind works better when I have had a few hours' sleep. So, boys and girls, I'm off to bed. Harry, mate, are you coming up too?” he asked.

“No, I'll come up later,” Harry replied.

“Okay,” Ron said or rather shouted from the foot of the staircase, “But both of you, mind it well, don't go on doing something that I wouldn't.” With that, he went away up to the dorms.

Harry smiled as Ron went. As he turned his attention towards Hermione, he found her gazing fondly at him.

“What?” he asked, seeing her look at him like that.

“Nothing,” she replied, “It's just that it's so nice to see you smile again.”

Harry nodded and once again, an air of familiarity swept the room. Hermione put her head on Harry's shoulder and put her arms around him.

“So how are you feeling, Harry?” she asked him.

“As if I am the lightest person in the world,” Harry replied, “I feel as if a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders.”

“Indeed,” said Hermione, “Am I glad to hear that?”

After a short while, she spoke up again, as she lazily drew circles on Harry's stomach, “Harry, can you promise me something?”

“Sure Hermione,” he said, “Anything for you.”

“The other night, Harry,” she said. “The state I saw you in…I shudder to think of what would have happened if someone else with opposite intentions might have found you. Promise me, Harry, that whatever happens, you will never let yourself degenerate into that state again. Promise me, Harry that, whenever you feel confused, lonely or uncertain, you will come and tell me everything.”

Harry looked down at Hermione's face and saw tears glistening in her eyes. She looked so beautiful and vulnerable to his eyes. At that moment, Harry understood the limitless love that Hermione felt for him. And more importantly, he finally felt something deep stirring inside his heart, and he knew instantly that if there were to be any future for him, if he were asked to name a person with who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, it would be her.

He took Hermione in her arms and said, “Hermione, you have been a wonderful friend to me and even as I sit here, I feel how precious you are to me. I have come to realize, Hermione, that I love you. Remember that time when I asked you for more time to sort out my feelings? Well, I don't need any more time, because, I know now, for certain, that the only thing in my heart for you, the only feeling for you is love. I love you, Hermione, and I promise you what you asked for. I don't mind facing anything in this world, so long as I find you beside me. I pledge to you my love, my soul, my heart and my mind, Hermione, everything except for my life, for I do not think it is mind to give to you. As for everything else I possess, it is yours!”

“Oh Harry!” Hermione squeaked and she embraced him in yet another tight hug, tears of joy streaming silently down her cheeks.

They pulled apart again, and as Harry looked down at her, their faces drew closer and closer, until they finally met and it seemed to Harry that this kiss that he shared with Hermione was better than any till now. It was a long, passionate kiss and it conveyed to either of them, the intensity of their feelings and the joy of having those feelings reciprocated. They pulled apart for air, whose need now seemed so cumbersome, so irritating, and so unnecessary. They had each other and they needed no one else.

They kissed and kissed, repeatedly, taking things slow, letting the physical part of their relationship go along slowly. Neither of them wanted to increase the pace or to pressurize the other; they just wanted to feel the raw feeling of excitement the other's presence elicited in them.

Finally, they lay on the couch. Hermione suddenly looked at Harry's watch as she lay (albeit fully clothed) over Harry, who in turn, lay on the couch. Her head was on the crook of his neck and he held her close to himself.

“Lawks!” exclaimed Hermione, “It's four. We must go back to our dorms.”

“What in the name of heaven!” Harry exclaimed, “Lawks? What was that?”

“Just a little expression I once picked up in my childhood,” Hermione said giggling, “It tends to slip out of my tongue sometimes. Anyway, we both need to go back to our dorms or we will be missed.”

“Oh no,” Harry replied, “Ron knows.”

“But my room-mates don't,” Hermione replied.

“Oh,” Harry asked sweetly, retaining on his face the best puppy dog expression he could muster for Hermione to see, “Do we need to? Can't we stay down here like this, together?”

“No, we can't,” Hermione said laughing, “And don't pout. It really tests my will.”

So they got up and separated into their own ways to their dorms, though not without sharing a long and heated good-night kiss.

“Wow!” Harry exclaimed, after the kiss ended.

“It seems you have much to learn, Mr Potter,” Hermione said, giggling.

“I do believe you are trying to seduce me, Miss Granger,” Harry said playfully.

“Who? Me?” Hermione said, feigning surprise. Then she whispered seductively in his ear, “I wouldn't dream of it, would I? After all, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Harry said, longing for her touch.

With that, she walked up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, leaving behind Harry with a vigorous throbbing in the lower part of his stomach.

Later, while Harry undressed and prepared to go to bed, he remembered something as words came floating into his mind-

At such time, a saviour will rise,

From amidst the ruins of war,

And assume the power into which he was born;

He shall fight the evil and.

Lead his people to a wonderful, new dawn.

Harry however, did not stop to consider this. Her merely laid his head on the pillow and went to sleep, his heart lighter than it had been for many days and his mind dreaming only of one person, his love, Hermione.